Bite Your Lip, Pull Me In
by rayychel infinity
Summary: Age difference: Blaine is 40, Kurt is 19, and this is the story of how a chance meeting between a successful businessman and a struggling young intern blossoms into something wonderfully unexpected.
1. How They Meet

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "His Girl Friday" by The Academy Is...

This fic is age difference, so if that's not your cup of Earl Grey, don't read. This story is also cross-posted to my Tumblr (endofadream), so a good chunk of this fic is already written and will be updated as regularly as I can keep it. The rating will go up in future chapters, as well as the word count. And, as always, thank you :)

* * *

"Rachel, don't torture me like this," Kurt complains, letting Rachel drag him along the streets toward the brightly-lit glamour of Fifth Avenue. "We can't afford anything here, not even a ring."

Rachel gives him only a cursory look back, her eyes glittering as brightly as the windows they pass. "Come on, Kurt, we've lived in New York for months now and we've never even been shopping on Fifth Avenue!"

"Window shopping," Kurt corrects, tugging her hand again to get her to slow down. His breath fogs up in a white ghost in front of him as he huffs, and try as he might he can't really be mad, not with the expensive allure surrounding them, the well-dressed socialites flitting from store to store in six-inch Louboutins, the handsome men in business suits strolling along beside wives, or shopping at their own leisure. It's where Kurt's wanted to be for years now, and being so close makes his chest ache with an unrelenting want.

Rachel holds both of his gloved hands, smiling bright and broad. "Let's just pretend that you and I finally have our dream jobs. I'm starring on a critically acclaimed Broadway show, and your designs are wanted by every boutique in the city. We don't even have to look at price tags. We can just buy whatever we want, when we want."

Kurt feels one corner of his mouth curl up, and he tilts his head, looks up toward the skyscrapers with their boxy orange glows of windows, and imagines living in a loft, a penthouse, with the world at his feet and the endless possibilities of the skies above him. "Well," he says, drawing it out and looking at the mannequins in Louis Vuitton to his left, the busy street traffic and whir of yellow cabs to his right.

"Kurt!" Rachel squeals impatiently.

"Let's go!" Kurt laughs and pulls Rachel into the store, not caring, for once, about how other people will see them when they stumble inside the warm, sweetly-perfumed air. He doesn't try to hide his awe at the racks and rows and piles of clothes and luggage and purses and scarves, at the equally-as-amazing people picking their way through the store.

"Wow," Rachel breathes next to him, her head tilted up.

"Wow is right." Kurt heads over to a table full of iconic-print scarves, picking one up and letting the supple silk glide through his fingers like a fish taking to water. "I've always wanted to own one of these, but even on my quest for decently-priced designer merchandise online they were still way out of my price range."

He unwinds his own thick cable-knit scarf, handing it to Rachel before folding up the one he'd picked up from the table, sliding it around his neck before looping it, tugging on the ends to get it to hang right. He cranes his neck, sees that there's a mirror just on the other side of the table, and he turns around, eager to see what it looks like, and runs straight into someone else.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry," Kurt says quickly, cheeks flushing red and voice pitching high in nervous apprehension. He's run into his fair share of people over the months, and nine times out of ten it doesn't end well. "I didn't mean to—that was so stupid of me."

"Hey, it's okay," a smooth, slightly boyish voice says. It takes Kurt a moment to focus, but when he does he sucks in a breath that he doesn't release right away.

"No harm, no foul, right?" the man continues with a good-natured smile, lips pulling deep laugh lines into the light stubble on his cheeks. His hair is black flecked with hints of gray, like the teasing light of stars in a sky Kurt rarely gets to see now, and is gelled back away from a well-lined forehead. His suit is slim and well-tailored, hugging his thighs and biceps in sleek matte black, and his tie is a tasteful splash of goldenrod atop a pinstriped oxford.

"I—," Kurt lets his voice trial off, afraid that if he tries to speak any further it'll crack embarrassingly. He clears his throat, squares his shoulders, and nods, still aware of the heat in his cheeks. "Right."

The man smiles at him, looks down at the scarf, and Kurt sees something flash behind golden-green eyes, a flitter or a spark that Kurt can't really place. The man reaches a hand out, gently touches one of the ends of the scarf, and adjusts it slightly before smiling again. "That looks great on you."

Kurt giggles—giggles—and pets the scarf like it's one of his own prized possessions. He bounces on his toes, feels like he could float away. "Thank you. It's too bad I can't afford it." He looks down at it sadly, traces a finger over one of the metallic LVs.

The man clucks his tongue, looks thoughtful for a moment, and Kurt can't help but notice how the motion brings deep frown lines between dark brows. "Pity. What's your name?"

Kurt looks back, notices Rachel watching the exchange wide-eyed, and turns back around. "Kurt Hummel."

The man holds out a hand, and Kurt takes it, takes note of the strength in a broad palm and long fingers. "Nice to meet you, Kurt." A wink, then, "Blaine Anderson."

Kurt smiles, bites his lip. "Nice to meet you, Blaine. And thanks for not getting mad at me for running into you. It's just kind of exciting for a struggling internist at who can't afford much more than old thrift-store clothes to be here."

"Vogue. It suits you," Blaine observes with another devastatingly charming smile, and Kurt feels his knees go weak; his heart flutter like it wants to beat its way out of his chest. He appraises Kurt's outfit, then says, "Not bad for thrift store."

When Blaine parts with an explanation of work to be done before tomorrow, Kurt stands there, staring, until Rachel grabs him excitedly and turns him to face her. "He was totally hitting on you!"

Kurt blinks, says nothing for a moment as he strips off his scarf and lays it gently back on the table. "No…you think?" There's a hopeful hint of longing in his voice. "But he's so much older."

"Even better!" Rachel hugs him tightly, and Kurt only has the time to awkwardly pat her back before she's releasing him. "You should've gotten his number," she says with a frown, hand on her hip as she cranes her neck, like she'll somehow find Blaine hiding behind one of the racks.

Kurt shrugs, loops an arm through Rachel, and directs her back toward the door. "I'm sure he was just being polite. Now, I really want Chinese."

* * *

Kurt's just finished typing up a memo for Isabelle when the ten o'clock mail arrives, and he's surprised when Kenny, the cute mail guy who is unfortunately engaged, drops a package on his desk. Kurt picks it up, frowns when he sees his name in unfamiliar, slanted script on the mailing address.

"Who's it from?" Kenny asks, hovering just off to the side of Kurt's desk. Kurt could roll his eyes, but he does like Kenny, and he doesn't blame him for being surprised: he never gets mail, not at work.

Kurt tears open the package, jaw dropping when a silky sea of light blue fabric stamped with metallic LVs falls from the paper, followed by a small business card. He turns it over, already knowing who it's from, and sees the same slanted print cramped onto the back.

_Kurt—_

_I didn't tell you this last night, but this scarf matched your eyes so beautifully, and I couldn't resist. I hope this isn't too forward, but I'd love to get dinner sometime, and I really regretted not giving you my number when I had the chance. So here's me trying—again._

_xx Blaine Anderson_

Kurt stares at the card for a few silent moments, reading it again and again and again just to be sure that he isn't imagining it. He flips the card over and sees Blaine's name and phone number, and from behind him, Kenny asks in disbelief, "Blaine Anderson gave that to you? You know Blaine Anderson?"

"No," Kurt says truthfully. "I ran into him last night—literally. Why? Is he someone important?"

He turns in his chair to see Kenny looking at him, slack-jawed. "Important? Kurt, Blaine Anderson runs one of the most prestigious model talent agencies in the world. He could buy this entire building if he wanted to, and the magazine, and still have enough leftover to buy out all of Fifth Avenue."

Kurt picks up the scarf, looks at the number printed on the card. "And he wants me?"

He stares at the card the rest of the morning, propped up against the metal pen holder, and wonders why someone like Blaine would want someone like him—young, inexperienced, completely poor and with all of the dreams real life has yet to squash out of him. He can't deny that Blaine is gorgeous, and breathtakingly so, and though he isn't quite sure of the age difference yet, it doesn't bother him.

By lunchtime, he finally makes up his mind. He sneaks off into the bathroom, locks the door, and dials the number written on the card. His hand shakes, palm sweating, and his heart pounds faster with each fuzzy ring.

When a voice finally says, "Blaine Anderson speaking," Kurt forces his breath out in one shuddery exhale, holds the phone closer to his ear and swallows hard, gathering up his courage.

"Blaine, hi. It's Kurt Hummel. I was just wondering when you were free, because there's this great new Thai place I read about in the Times that I'd like to try." He pauses, smiles, says, "And the scarf does match my eyes."


	2. How Their First Date Goes

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "His Girl Friday" by The Academy Is...

This fic is age difference, so if that's not your cup of Earl Grey, don't read. This story is also cross-posted to my Tumblr (endofadream), so a good chunk of this fic is already written and will be updated as regularly as I can keep it. The rating will go up in future chapters, as well as the word count. And, as always, thank you :)

* * *

"You got a date with him?!" Rachel screeches when Kurt walks into the loft that evening. She's waving her phone around as she runs toward the door, and for a moment Kurt's afraid it's going to fly out of her hand.

He grins, though, unable to help himself as he takes off his coat. The Louis Vuitton scarf is wrapped proudly around his neck, gleaming and shimmering in the light as he walks toward the kitchen. "Tomorrow night at some steak place Blaine insisted on."

Rachel squeals again, hugging Kurt tightly and bouncing up and down. "Oh my god, you have a date with an older man! A hot older man!" She stops, pulls away and lowers her voice conspiratorially. "Are you gonna, you know, go home with him? Because you know what they say…"

Kurt feels his cheeks heat and quickly ducks his head, shaking it. He laughs nervously. "No. Oh god, no. Not yet. Rachel, you know I've never…done anything like that with anyone."

"Oh, don't tell me that you haven't fantasized about your first time being with someone older, who's more experienced and who knows how to make you feel really good."

Kurt coughs awkwardly, rummaging loudly through their silverware drawer for two forks. He fishes the leftover Chinese out of the fridge and steadfastly ignores Rachel's eyes when he says, "Can't say that I have. I don't fantasize much."

"Bull." Rachel takes a fork and a container, popping the top open and taking a seat at the table. Kurt sits down across from her, opening his container of orange chicken. "We have a very distinct lack of walls in this apartment, Kurt," she says wryly. "I hear things."

Kurt feels even the tips of his ears go red as he chokes on a mouthful of rice. "Rachel!"

She just smiles and digs her fork back into her vegetarian fried rice. "We all do it, Kurt. You just need to be stealthier, like me. And quieter."

Kurt groans, but feels the indescribable happiness and fondness he gets on nights like these, when they have time to be together and just talk. "Of all the people to have as my roommate, Rachel, and I chose you."

"You love me."

"Mm, but very reluctantly."

—

"Rachel, oh my god I'm so nervous." Kurt fusses with his bowtie, his charcoal gray vest, the careful coif of his hair. He turns to the side, looking into the mirror as he runs the flat of a palm over his thigh, the curve of his ass well-outlined and well-highlighted in the tightest pair of black jeans that he owns. "What if he doesn't like it? Do the pants make me seem slutty or desperate? He has to know more about fashion than me, and, god, he probably thinks that my fashion sense is severely lacking—"

"Calm down," Rachel soothes with an amused smile. She takes Kurt's hands, squeezes, and Kurt takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and forcing himself to relax. Though his shoulders drop his stomach still tangles itself over and over into knots, and suddenly the idea of eating anything makes him want to heave. Rachel catches his attention again, looking up into his eyes. "Blaine likes you. I'm sure he'd like you even if you showed up in a garbage bag."

Kurt squeezes her hands back, exhaling his deep breath yoga-style. He hates feeling insecure again, hates not knowing what's going to happen—especially with someone like _Blaine_, who was wearing the most gorgeous suit Kurt's ever seen, a suit that probably costs more than Kurt's entire _life_ so far. "Do you think?"

"I know. And you look amazing, Kurt, seriously. Your jeans don't make you look slutty, I promise."

And hearing it from Rachel's mouth, that ridiculousness, has Kurt laughing in relief. He has a tendency to overreact, and it doesn't help that it's only the second date he's ever had (though he likes to forget the first one with a coworker a month or two after they'd moved out here). He takes a look in the mirror again, bends to tuck a bit more of his pant leg into his boots. "I do look good."

"You always look good," Rachel teases, clapping her hands together. "I'm so excited for you! A date with a _billionaire_. We're moving up in the world!"

Kurt rolls his eyes, but over the duration of their living situation Rachel's tendency for hyperbole has become more endearing than annoying, and seeing her get so excited about everything helps Kurt overcome his jaded cynicism about the world. "This hardly counts as 'moving up,'" Kurt replies with careful air quotes. "This could be the only date we have together. He could be having a mid-life crisis for all we know and is trying to relive his past by dating the first young person that he sees." He doesn't acknowledge the way those words send a hollow, aching pang resonating in his chest.

Rachel shakes her head. "Nope, I don't believe it for a second."

Kurt opens his mouth to rebuke, refusing to get his hopes up on what is already a long shot and ridiculously perfect fantasy come to life, when his phone beeps from the couch. He rushes to get it, fingers trembling when he swipes his thumb over the screen.

**To Kurt (6:47PM):**  
_Are you ready?_

**To Kurt (6:47PM):**  
_Look outside :)_

Kurt looks at Rachel, perplexed, as his phone beeps again and he reads the second message. "I thought we were going to meet there."

Rachel just shrugs. "Maybe he drove."

"Someone like Blaine? I doubt it." Kurt shakes his head and walks over to one of the tall, grimy windows that face the street, and when he looks outside, he nearly drops his phone in shock. "_Rachel_," he hisses. "Rachel!"

Rachel rushes over to the window, looks out, and shrieks. "No way! He's picking you up in a Town Car? A more-than-likely _chauffeured _Town Car?" She places a hand on his shoulder solemnly. "Please keep him."

"He's not a puppy," Kurt replies, but his mouth twitches up, and renewed excitement chases away the stomach-churning anxiety. He bends to press a kiss to Rachel's cheek. "I'll be back later."

As he's grabbing his coat and wallet from his nightstand, he sees the Louis Vuitton scarf on his dresser, and it's only a moment's more hesitation before he hurriedly undoes his bowtie, deftly slides the scarf on and stuffs it between the V of his vest, and rushes out the door.

Blaine is waiting for him outside the car when Kurt runs out of his building, and he notices Blaine's composure slip for a fraction of a second as he takes in Kurt's outfit, and he smiles to himself, holding his chin up higher as he adjusts his coat to display more of the scarf.

"Hi," Kurt says breathlessly when he gets close. Blaine looks even more handsome than Kurt had remembered, and he's slightly less formal today in a burlap brown herringbone jacket, black button-down, and dark-wash jeans that hug his thighs carefully. "Wow. Um, you look…really, really handsome."

Blaine holds the back door open for Kurt graciously, smiling broad in a way that fans crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. "You look amazing," Blaine says as Kurt climbs in, sliding across buttery soft black leather. The door shuts behind him, and then Blaine is climbing into the backseat next to Kurt.

"Sorry for being maybe a little too ostentatious," Blaine says with a wince as Kurt looks around wide-eyed at the sleek interior of the car. "But I figured it'd be easier than one of us getting stuck in traffic or something."

"It's fine," Kurt says, far-off as he looks at the half-closed partition separating them from the front seat. "So you have a driver," he says casually.

"Roy and I go way back," Blaine replies. He leans forward. "Don't we, Roy?"

"Way too far back if you ask me," the man who must be Roy says in a deep, Brooklyn-accented voice. "Are we ready to go?"

Blaine looks over, and Kurt watches his smile morph into something softer, more intimate. His eyes land on the scarf, and Kurt sees the rise of his eyebrows, the curl of his lips as the smile returns. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to; Kurt knows. "Definitely ready."

—

Kurt's decided that he'd like to find the person who'd said chivalry is dead and introduce them to Blaine Anderson. When they arrive in Midtown West at a restaurant Kurt's never heard of, Blaine holds Kurt's door _again_, and then holds the restaurant's door open for Kurt and for an elderly couple that had been walking behind them.

"You are entirely too nice," Kurt says as Blaine checks in with their reservations. They're led to a two-seater in a back corner of the rustically-themed restaurant, and Kurt accepts the menu from the waitress.

"My mother just raised me right," Blaine says with a wink, opening his menu to the drinks section.

Kurt opens his, then blinks in surprise when every item is listed without a price next to it. "Uh, Blaine, how am I supposed to know what to order if there aren't any prices?"

"Don't worry about it." Blaine waves it off. "Get whatever you want."

"_Blaine_," Kurt insists.

"Nope." Blaine shakes his head with a smirk as the waitress comes back with a bread basket, setting it on the table between them. "It's all on me tonight."

Kurt huffs out a sigh but gives in, knowing that he won't get anywhere. They order drinks, and when the waitress is gone Kurt finally dregs up the courage to ask Blaine the question that's been on his mind since last night. "Okay, I have to ask—"

"How old I am?" Blaine grins easily. "I just turned forty in June."

"Forty." Kurt bites the inside of his cheek, nods his head slowly, and feels a sparking heat just below the surface of his skin that travels quickly from his chest down to his groin. "That's…a good number."

"Good as in…it's an even number and you like even numbers, or good as in…you don't mind?" Blaine bites his lip, looking hesitantly up over the edge of his menu, and Kurt's shocked at how _young_ that makes Blaine look.

He smiles, cheeks flushing, and reads about a cocktail he's never even heard of. Blaine had ordered a dry martini on the rocks, and it's weird to be on a date with someone old enough to drink when his own Pepsi is bubbling and dripping condensation in front of him, making him feel entirely too young. "Good as in…I definitely like it."

"Oh." Blaine looks immensely pleased, eyes bright where they seek out and find Kurt's. "Well, good. I was…afraid I was overstepping boundaries, asking you out like this."

"No, no!" Kurt's quick to respond, setting down his menu. The candlelight on their table wavers and flickers in faint gold, shadows jumping and elongating, and Blaine's lips part slightly as Kurt reaches hesitantly past the bread basket, then retracts his hand. "I'm actually really glad you did. Honest."

Blaine picks up where Kurt had stopped, taking Kurt's hand in his. He lifts them up, and Kurt watches, mesmerized, as Blaine brings the back of Kurt's hand to his mouth and kisses it, a butterfly brush of slightly damp lips that make his body shudder, heart pounding and skin tingly not just where Blaine's mouth touched, but _everywhere_, like there's been a switch turned on for the first time.

"You're so corny," Kurt says, then giggles, and he feels like he should be mortified at the way he's acting, but he can't help it. It's like he's one of his Pepsi's bubbles, carbonated and floating up, up until he finally explodes.

"I'm just an old old-fashioned guy," Blaine retorts, winking. "So what about you? What's your story?"

Kurt clears his throat and twists his fingers together nervously. "Well, um, I'm nineteen, and I intern at , like I mentioned before. I came here from Ohio over the summer, and I share a place with my best friend Rachel."

"I grew up in Ohio," Blaine says, looking suddenly distant. "Westerville."

"I grew up in Lima," Kurt replies, fiddling with the gleaming silverware to the right of his plate. "It's kind of eerie how close our hometowns are to each other."

Their small talk continues after the waitress comes back to take their order and Kurt relaxes more and more with each story and anecdote they tell. He finds out that Blaine had begun his company when he was twenty-nine, and within a few short years it had ballooned into something that, Blaine says humbly and a bit embarrassedly, he could have never imagined. He'd had one serious boyfriend before, had been engaged to him, but they're ultimately broken it off after a few months. Kurt isn't sure why that thought makes him irrationally jealous.

He'd ordered the sirloin, medium rare, at Blaine's insistence, and had tried his best not to moan as his first bite all but melts in his mouth. Blaine watches with a knowing smile, and when Kurt asks timidly if he can try some of Blaine's rib-eye, Blaine holds out his fork with a piece speared on it. They don't break eye contact as Kurt bites it off and chews.

They get cheesecake for dessert, sharing a single large piece, and this time Kurt lets Blaine bite off his fork even though Blaine has his own. Blaine won't let him see the check when it arrives, instead fishing his wallet out of his pocket and slapping down a black piece of plastic and slipping it into the little sleeve as he tips back the last of his martini. He offers one of the olives to Kurt, who takes it, wincing at the sour taste sharpened with a hint of vodka.

He reaches across the table, takes Kurt's hand again. "I didn't exactly say this earlier," he begins, "but you look absolutely breathtaking tonight, Kurt."

Kurt flushes. 'You don't have to do this, you know," he says. "Taking me out, buying me dinner, buying me this _scarf_." He touches the silk at his neck; watches Blaine follow the movement of his fingers. "I know I'm just some kid."

Blaine shakes his head. "You're more than that. There's just something about you, Kurt. I couldn't stop thinking about you last night. Did you know that I was already home when I decided to buy you that scarf? I went back down there with barely enough time before Louis Vuitton closed and bought it without a second thought." He rubs his thumb over the back of Kurt's hand, and Kurt loses himself in the feel of the rhythmic slide, the security of another hand wrapped around his. "You're just…" He trails off, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and when he opens them again they're intense, dark, the candlelight casting shadows and splashes in honey irises, the salt-and-pepper stubble decorating a soft jaw and gently-lined cheeks. "I've never met anyone as beautiful as you, Kurt. I've never felt like this, not even about Jeremy. And I want to make you mine. I want to buy you things, and take you places, and make you feel special. I want to treat you like the prince you deserve to be, and I would be honored if you'd let me."

Kurt opens his mouth, but he can't find the words. He stares, speechless, at the man sitting across from him. Surely Blaine can't mean all of that. They barely even _know_ each other. He has to have better things to spend his money on. Kurt can't just _let_ him do all this stuff. He closes his mouth, opens it again, and tries to decline, tries to say _no, I can't let you_.

Instead, he says, small and nervous, "Do you really mean that?"

Blaine looks relieved that Kurt's response isn't a no, and he nods, drawing his lips into his mouth to wet them. The waitress comes, takes the check without a word. "I do," Blaine responds softly. His eyes flicker down, then up, and Kurt's lips tingle like the back of his hand had, despite not knowing what Blaine's lips would feel like on his own. "I meant every word."

"Then yes," Kurt responds immediately, feels his cheeks stretch as he smiles. "I want to get to know more about the famous Blaine Anderson, but preferably at a place where the menu has numbers."

Blaine rolls his eyes but agrees, and when they stand to leave, Blaine slips his hand into Kurt's threading their fingers together. Kurt looks down, astonished, and he meets Blaine's eyes when he looks up. He wonders what they look like to the other patrons, finds that he doesn't really even care.

They climb back into the Town Car, and when Roy pulls away from the curb the heavy, warm weight of Blaine's hand finds Kurt's upper thigh. He bites his lip and looks out the window at the blur of neon lights as Roy and Blaine discuss the Giants game. And when there's a lull in the conversation, Blaine squeezes his thigh gently; Kurt looks over, finds Blaine staring at him, and he's shocked to find something akin to amazement on Blaine's face. He barely even realizes when they stop at his apartment, the engine humming underfoot as Roy puts the car into park.

"I had a really nice time tonight," Kurt says softly when Blaine walks him to the door. They stop just under the orange glow of an overhead light, and Blaine reaches out, touches Kurt's scarf with wondering fingertips. "Thank you."

Blaine doesn't say anything, doesn't retract his hand, and Kurt's breath hitches. "…I kind of want to kiss you." He bites his lip. "Is that okay?"

Blaine's hand moves, now, to cup Kurt's cheek, and he breathes out, "Very, very okay," as he leans in. Like time has slowed down, it seems to take forever before Kurt's eyes slide fully shut, before Blaine's warm breath ghosts over his lips, before the soft press of them is against Kurt's.

His arms go around Blaine's beck, fingers pressing into bone and toned muscle, Blaine's arms going around his waist, palm flat on his lumbar region to push him closer. It stays chaste, unmoving, until Kurt feels like his lungs will burst if he doesn't breathe soon. Then, it's over, and he breathing in a tiny gasp as Blaine pulls back.

Blaine places a hand on his cheek, leans in to rub his nose against Kurt's, and says, "I'll call you tomorrow."

Kurt watches him walk away, leaning heavily against the cold concrete of his building as the black door slams and the car's driving off. He touches his fingers to his lips, still tingling now with the actual memory of Blaine's kiss, and wonders if it's appropriate to start swooning.

Blaine Anderson had been his first kiss, and somehow, Kurt doesn't find that a bad thing at all.


	3. How They Become Boyfriends

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "His Girl Friday" by The Academy Is...

This fic is age difference, so if that's not your cup of Earl Grey, don't read. This story is also cross-posted to my Tumblr (endofadream), so a good chunk of this fic is already written and will be updated as regularly as I can keep it. The rating will go up in future chapters, as well as the word count. And, as always, thank you :)

* * *

Kurt lies awake in bed for hours that night, his hand on his chest as he stares at the ceiling. He's so full of conflicting emotions that he's afraid he might burst and so full of restless energy that he's almost tempted to pull on a pair of straight-leg sweats and a light hoodie and go for a really-early-morning jog—and he probably would if they lived in a better neighborhood.

On one hand, he feels absolutely ridiculous for so readily accepting Blaine's fantasy-like proposal. He knows Blaine is genuine—he's familiar with the type of passion that had been in Blaine's eyes when he'd said it, but…Kurt is still just a kid. He didn't go to college, and he probably won't.

He wants to be a fashion designer, a hard enough industry to get into in the first place, if Project Runway is any indication, and when word gets out that he's dating a model scout he's going to be a very popular unpopular subject of discussion all over the fashion world and fodder for some extremely vindictive lies and rumors.

However, on the other hand, despite their age difference, Kurt really does like Blaine. He likes his smile, his laugh, the sexy way he drinks a martini and he adorable way he delicately eats his food. He likes the raw passion he'd seen, and the openly honest way Blaine had talked to him in the restaurant. He hadn't been treated like a teenager wanting to become someone's trophy husband: he'd been treated like he was the very important center of someone's universe, like the fragile new beginning of something, a delicate, crushable baby bird in someone's palm.

And Blaine…well, he's far from lecherous, or creepy, or any of the other things you're supposed to think when a man over twice your age hits on you. When Kurt looks at Blaine, he may see the physical markings of someone who's lived a long, full, possibly sometimes hard life, but, as he's learned, that's just an exterior. Age doesn't embody, doesn't define, it just is. Kurt likes Blaine Anderson the person, not Blaine Anderson the number.

What he doesn't want to think about, though, is how Blaine had been his first kiss. It had been nice—amazing, actually, and something he knows he'll never forget, that shower of sparking bright fireworks as their lips had touched and pressed and melded together—and he doesn't regret who it was with, but it's terrifying to think that the man who had been his first kiss, who might eventually be his first everything, is much older and much, much more experienced than Kurt's ever imagined himself being. And he's scared of bringing it up, of telling Blaine that he's a virgin in (now almost) every sense of the word. Though Blaine doesn't seem the type to just run away, Kurt's still afraid that it would be too much, that the pressure, the responsibility, would ultimately be the thing to crumble and undo all of this. And then where would he be? Heartbroken again.

He rolls over onto his side with a groan, tugging the sheets up to his shoulders. He should at least focus on the good things like how well the date had gone, how Blaine's hand had felt on his thigh. How he'd wanted to kiss him and never stop.

And when he finally does drift off, Blaine's face is the last thing that he sees.

Rachel is already in the kitchen when Kurt shuffles in the next morning, unshowered and in sweatpants and a plain T-shirt, and she turns, two white ceramic mugs in her hands. She beams at him, and from the thin black pants and tight tank top Kurt's guessing that she's just finished her early-morning workout routine. He feels bad for being so lazy this morning, but he hadn't gotten asleep until late, and as a consequence had slept in later than he'd have liked.

He sits down at the table and accepts one of the mugs, taking a careful sip and wincing at the bitter, cheap taste. "God, I hate this stuff."

Rachel sits down next to him, resting her elbows on the table. The steam from her mug rises up in wispy, silvery vapors, curling and dancing until they thin out and disappear. "Cheaper than Starbucks every day. Though, I think you should be the last person complaining right now." She grins and leans in. "How'd it go last night with Mr. Sexy Billionaire?"

"He wouldn't let me see the check," Kurt says. "The menu didn't even have_ prices_."

Rachel whistles, nudges Kurt with her elbow and grins. "He must really like you."

Kurt shrugs, takes another sip of his coffee, and sets the mug down. All the signs point toward Blaine genuinely liking him, but Kurt's still afraid for a catch, for the other shoe to drop, for him to wake up and this all be a very elaborate dream. Men like Blaine don't just do things like this without wanting something in return. But it seems like all Blaine wants is a shot at them, to see if that spark could be kindled into something roaring and everlasting.

"I think he does," Kurt replies, slowly, carefully choosing his words. "I'm just—guys don't usually buy thousand-dollar scarves for me because they matched my eyes."

"Blaine said that?" Rachel sounds positively giddy. Kurt nods, raising an eyebrow, and Rachel's grin grows even wider, sly and knowing this time, and Kurt shrinks back in his seat.

"What?"

"He wants to be your sugar daddy, doesn't he?"

"I—I, um…well…" Kurt flushes scarlet, staring down into the milky brown depths of his half-drank coffee, and feels the heat of Rachel's gaze on him. He hadn't thought about it that way, in those terms, but hearing Rachel say it, Kurt knows she's right, that that's what Blaine wants, and it makes him feel oddly…proud, in a sense. "Blaine may have—he said some…things, more or less, and made some, uh, promises that I kind of…agreed to."

"I knew it! God, if he wasn't gay I'd be_ so_ jealous right now."

"But we really like each other!" Kurt defends quickly. "He's funny and smart and charming and so gorgeous. He holds doors open for me, and walks me to my front step…he even kissed me goodnight."

"Oh my god, so he was…?"

"My first kiss?" Kurt smiles fondly at the memory, his lips tingling again. "Yeah."

"Does he know?"

Kurt swallows hard, shakes his head, and feels that same roiling apprehension, that nervousness and fear. "No. We didn't really bring that up, and I didn't want to tell him. Not yet."

Rachel frowns. "Don't you think you should at least tell him soon? That's kind of a big thing, Kurt, and it's not like you two are the same age. He might want more before you're ready."

Kurt waves it off, but he knows she's right. "I'll tell him when I'm ready. Besides, he texted me last night after he dropped me off." Kurt bites his lip to hide his smile, runs his thumb over his phone in his lap. "He asked if the kiss was moving too fast, and when I told him no, it was perfect, he said he didn't care how slow we moved, just that he was happy it was with me."

Rachel _aww_s, eyes big and misty with tears, and places her hand on Kurt's on the table. "I know I said it before, but I mean it this time. Keep him."

Kurt's phone buzzes, and when he sees Blaine's name on the lock screen, his heart quickens and flips. The text isn't much, just a sweet good morning, _my prince :)_, but the knowledge that there is someone now, someone besides Rachel and his family, that's more than enough. "I think I might."

_"If you could choose one Broadway show to see right now,"_ Blaine begins over the phone that evening, his voice tinny and echoing in Kurt's partitioned-off room, _"which one would it be?"_

Kurt pauses in trying on ties for his outfit tomorrow, staring at his iPhone on the bed. "What do you mean?"

_"Purely hypothetical, of course. I want to know your taste in fine entertainment."_

Kurt laughs, shakes his head and settles on a bloodred tie that will go great under his black, silver-pinstriped jacket and against his slate-gray oxford. "Well, _Wicked_ has always been one of my favorites. I sang 'Defying Gravity' in high school in an inter-glee club competition—don't ask, it was a nightmare and I lost to my best friend—and when Rachel and I first got here we went down to the Gershwin and just stood there staring up at it, seeing it for the first time in person, and it was so amazing because it was real."

Blaine doesn't say anything right away, and Kurt busies himself by putting away the colorful heaps of discarded accessories and outfit pieces. When he's done, jittery and still running on _I could screw all of this up in an instant because I'm a stupid kid who doesn't know how to act around guys that like me_, he asks, hesitantly, "Blaine?"

_"I love _Wicked_,"_ Blaine replies. It's soft, and it sounds like he's smiling.

A letter arrives the next day at work with Kurt's name on it. He knows it's from Blaine before he even sees the slanted handwriting, and he wonders why Blaine is sending him anything in the first place. Regardless, he waits until he's on his lunch break to open it, and the minute two heavy pieces of paper fall from the torn envelope, he's glad he waited until he was alone because he's sure the scream he'd just let out wouldn't have been appreciated by anyone.

On the surface of the table tucked into the corner of the lounge lie two fourth row, orchestra center tickets for tonight's performance of _Wicked_. Tickets Kurt's only ever dreamt about holding in his hands. Tickets he thought he'd never _see_.

He's having trouble breathing, short, staccato breaths and muted gasps, and he keeps touching the tickets like he's expecting them to vanish, or for Ashton Kutcher to pop out and declare him _Punk'd_. He's going to see _Wicked_. He's going to see his first Broadway performance ever—and, oh god, Rachel is going to kill him. She's going to hate him so much.

He lifts up one of the tickets, his hands trembling, and lets his eyes stray to the price for only a moment before he's back to tracing the name over and over. He blinks, and still it says Gershwin Theatre. He blinks, and they're still there. He blinks, and his phone rings, and he doesn't even look at who's calling before he answers and breathes out, "Blaine."

_"Surprise."_ Blaine's voice is that same special softness that it had been last night when he'd said that he loved _Wicked_.

"Blaine, this isn't—I can't—I mean—"

_"I'm going to take you being speechless as a good thing,"_ Blaine teases. _"I like making you speechless."_

"Blaine, you can't just…I can't…"

_"You said you wanted to see _Wicked_, right?"_

"We'll, yes, I've wanted to see it for years, but, _Blaine_—"

_"Then it's settled."_ Blaine's voice is finalized, and Kurt knows that arguing will be completely useless._ "And we can get dinner afterward."_

"_Blaine_."

_"Relax,"_ Blaine says, laughs, and his deep chuckle makes Kurt's skin burn hot, makes him ache in ways he's never felt before. _"The menu has prices this time. I promise it's nothing extremely fancy."_

"Something tells me that, also adding in the keyword 'extremely,' your idea of fancy is a lot different than mine." He looks down at the tickets again, worries his lower lip and tries not to feel _too_ giddy. "Do I even want to know how you got such good seats on such short notice?"

_"I have connections,"_ Blaine says mysteriously. _"And they're all legal, in case you were wondering."_

Kurt smiles fondly, looks down at the grain of the wood. "I wasn't, but thanks for the clarification."

Blaine doesn't say anything for a moment, and Kurt appreciates the silence f the line, comfortable and surprisingly cozy, like the soft sweater you wouldn't think would fit but does. It gives him a moment to soak everything in, to ponder of the now, what this all means and what the future could hold. When Blaine finally does speak, it's hushed, unsure. _"Are you happy?"_

Is he happy? Kurt's sure he bypassed 'happy' a few days ago. He still feels like he's somehow taking advantage of Blaine (god only knows what an outsider's perspective might be of the two of them), but there's something about the way Blaine had just asked that question that makes Kurt think that, maybe, what this is, whatever it is so far, what it could bud and bloom in to, could become _more_. More than Kurt's ever imagined, more than he can take, he doesn't know. "I can't remember the last time I was this happy," he whispers, knows immediately that it's the truth, that he's always felt some sort of despair, a niggling, insistent dark cloud that was always just _there_. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_." Kurt doesn't know what Blaine's thanking him for, and he doesn't ask when Blaine only says those two words and doesn't clarify. Instead, Kurt dwells on the soaring feeling in his chest, centered around his heart; on the way that he's smiling even when he's completely unaware. He's not longer a single Pepsi bubble: he's a hot air balloon, floating higher and higher with no pop, no explosion and crash, in sight.

"You have to tell me everything." Rachel pokes Kurt's shoulder hard, and Kurt winces.

"Ow. Jeez, Rach, calm down," Kurt says, carefully tying and straightening his bowtie. Rachel stands behind him in the mirror, hands on her hips as she watches, then hands Kurt his slim black vest. He shrugs it on, buttons it up, and bites his lip, searching the patterned button-down, the vest, the simple bowtie, and the tight black pants. It needs something.

On his dresser gleams a pin, silver scissors and a chain, and Kurt picks it up, affixes it to his vest, and takes a step back to appraise. It's out there, but simple, and Kurt's been dying to wear this shirt for weeks now since he got it from a leftover comp box at work.

"You look good," Rachel gushes. "Blaine's going to be watching you the entire evening, not the performance."

Kurt's phone beeps, and he looks at it, sees that it's a text from Blaine. "They're here." He holds his arms out, and Rachel flings herself into his hug, squeezing and knocking the breath out of him. "_Oh_—I wish you could come, too."

Rachel pulls away, rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "No you don't. You may think you do now, but once you see Blaine you'll forget all about me." She winks, and Kurt flushes, ducks his head to hide his smile. He grabs his coat and buttons it up as he rushes out of the building, too excited and nervous to wait.

Blaine is standing outside the car again, dressed in slim black pants and a heavy gray overcoat. His hair is gelled back a little more this time, and he looks solemn as he stands there, hands clasped and covered in sleek black leather gloves, but the moment Kurt steps outside, collar turned up against the wind's brisk chill, his face lights up.

Kurt bites his lip when he stops in front of Blaine, reaches a shaky hand out to brush against the wool of Blaine's coat. "Hi."

"Hi." Blaine's smile crinkles the corners of his eyes, and Kurt notices that one sideburn is graying faster than the other. "Your nose is red."

"It's cold."

Blaine chuckles; then, without warning, he's leaning in and kissing Kurt's cheek, and Kurt feels his jaw drop, wants to bring a hand up to touch the warm circle where it feels like there's a brand. "That it is. Come on, Roy wants to say hi."

He opens the door, but before Kurt can step in, Blaine's grabbing his wrist gently and leaning back in, and this time his lips brush Kurt's ear. It takes everything in him not to moan, to fall to pieces or melt like jelly. "This is becoming incredibly redundant, but _wow_, Kurt, you look stunning. How have I gone my entire life without ever meeting someone like you?"

"With those lines it's no surprise." But Kurt smiles as he says it, looks at Blaine through half-lowered lashes and wonders if he's being maybe too coy. He swallows his fear and grabs the back of Blaine's neck, pulls him in for a kiss, and the surprise has Blaine's lips soft and pliant under Kurt's, but he keeps it simple, chaste, and parts to say, "You look as suavely handsome as ever, Mr. Anderson. Now let's go before I freeze to death."

Kurt is only slightly ashamed to admit that he'd spent about half of the performance watching Blaine in between being amazed at actually _seeing_ everything on stage the way he'd seen through grainy YouTube videos, but much better quality and a _lot_ closer. He notices little things about Blaine this way, like the way he clenches his jaw when he tries not to cry (but Kurt had taken his hand during the last ten minutes of the second act, and Blaine had squeezed back), the way his lashes look when he blinks, the soft wave of his hair and the slight bump of his nose all cast in muted, silhouetted profile.

Before the lights had gone down they'd been looking at Kurt's Playbill together, Blaine pointing out people he knew, or productions he'd seen, and his hand had again found Kurt's thigh, farther up toward the apex of his hip this time, and Kurt had sucked in a breath, hadn't exhaled until he'd absolutely needed to, but Blaine hadn't flinched. He didn't move his hand until fifteen minutes into the production, and Kurt had felt the warmth, the press, for the rest of the evening.

He's shocked and slightly terrified about how much that makes him want more. He's never been on a true date, much less a second one, and he's definitely never had anyone pay such close attention to him before like Blaine does. Blaine makes sure that Kurt has what he needs, offers his jacket when he thinks Kurt looks cold, gives him a smile at just the right moments and always, always knows when to kiss him. Kurt's still a little more reserved, fresh from oppressive Ohio, but Blaine has lived in New York for years, and slowly he's helping Kurt come out of his shell and realize that the world is changing and it's okay.

This feels like more than a second date, if Kurt wants to be honest. Already they've developed an intimacy that far surpasses anything Kurt's ever had, and when they leave the performance that night, Blaine's arm around Kurt's waist as Kurt sniffles and dabs at his still-damp eyes, he feels inexplicably at home in that moment.

Roy is waiting for them at the curb, and he gives Kurt a knowing smile through the rearview mirror when Kurt slides into the backseat, smiling and shifting toward the warmth of the seat warmers. Blaine slides in, his knee knocking Kurt's, and there he keeps it until Roy stops fifteen minutes later in front of a homier-looking restaurant.

"I feel like we're taking advantage of him," Kurt says after he and Blaine climb out, casting a backwards glance as Roy expertly glides back out into traffic.

"He's a driver," Blaine says, but he says it lightly, and Kurt shivers with delight when Blaine reaches between them and seeks out Kurt's hand, twining their gloved fingers together. "It's kind of his job. And he doesn't mind it, I promise. We've been friends for a long time, and, truth be told, I overpay him for what he does. But his kids are great and his wife makes the best carrot cake rolls."

"I think I've found your weakness," Kurt teases, turning his head to see Blaine practically salivating. "You're lucky that I love to bake."

They're led to a table by a waitress who looks from them to their clasped hands, blinking in momentary surprise before neutrality settles back in, and Kurt's hackles rise for a few seconds before he forces himself to remember that couples like him and Blaine—both gay and age-differentiated—aren't that uncommon in New York.

When he sees the menu, however, he groans and almost wishes that there weren't any prices. "You are such a _liar_," he says, scanning the items. "If my meal the other night was _anything_ like this—"

"You don't want to know what your meal the other night was like," Blaine says dismissively, flipping through the laminated pages. "But it doesn't matter to me. I'll say it again: don't worry about it. I said I was going to treat you right, didn't I?"

Kurt slouches in his seat, then sits up straight. Blaine has a point, and he knows it, but letting go like this is still difficult. He's staring at a fifteen-dollar appetizer, sitting across from a man who'd taken him to his first Broadway show, had unknowingly given him his first kiss, and who's willing to do anything to make him happy. Most sane people would take it and run, not asking any questions. Kurt, however, isn't most sane people.

He startles when he feels Blaine's hand on his own, and he looks up. Blaine's tie is askew, and Kurt longs to fix it. His lips are wet, like he's just been licking them, and Kurt longs to kiss him. Before Blaine can say anything, Kurt smiles. "Okay."

And that's all he needs to say. _Okay_. Blaine's face lights up, and Kurt does lean over then, carefully, and kisses him, letting his hand run over the gel-stiff bumps of Blaine's hair. This is him giving in, accepting Blaine and Blaine's ideas, his propositions and whatever else he can present to Kurt. This is him running with it for once, latching onto that thin, delicate thread of happiness when it dangles and refusing to let go.

And after dinner, when Blaine's Town Car hums at the curb and he stops at Kurt's front step, Kurt kisses him again, hand on Blaine's jaw and fist tight in the lapel of Blaine's coat. He deepens it slowly, tilting his head and letting their lips slide together, and he feels the near-imperceptible tightening of Blaine's fingers in his hair. When he brushes his tongue fleetingly across Blaine's lower lip, Blaine's back-of-the-throat groan prompts him further, emboldens him to slide his tongue into the damp heat of Blaine's mouth for the first time, and he stiffens only slightly when Blaine tugs him closer, their bodies flush together as they kiss until Kurt's lips are as numb as his ears.

"I really like you," Blaine breathes when they part, breath puffing out white in front of him before being whisked away by the wind. His eyes have darkened slightly, hazel diluted down to a deeper brown, and his lips are red, and Kurt thinks, wide-eyed, _I did that_. Blaine's thumb is gentle where it brushes Kurt's cheekbone, and he wants to keep it there, wants Blaine to never stop touching him.

"I really like you, too," Kurt whispers.

"I feel like I should have done something more extravagant, maybe something that involved heating or a glittery present to make your eyes light up, but I kind of like this." Blaine kisses him again, but pulls back when Kurt tilts his head and lifts his chin. "It feels spontaneous and young."

"Ah, age jokes. I'm starting a notebook just for you, so be prepared."

Blaine just laughs. "I thought that when I hit forty, I'd finally cease to be surprised at the turns life can make. I've seen a lot, and I've done a lot. I've met a lot of people, too, but none I've ever wanted to do this so badly to." Kurt's lips part in a cut-off gasp when Blaine tugs him forward by his lapels, and this kiss is more heated, deeper, and Kurt squeezes his eyes tightly shut, clings to the back of Blaine's coat and lets himself be swept out like he's caught in the tide.

Blaine parts with a gasp, and on that same exhaled breath he asks, "Will you be my boyfriend?"

"Yes." Kurt doesn't hesitate, and he kisses Blaine's lips, the chilled tip of his nose, his cheek. "Yes, of course, Blaine. I'd love to be your boyfriend."

"You'll have to update my Facebook for me, though," Blaine says, and his eyes glint in the yellow streetlight. He grins, pulls Kurt in for a kiss just because he can. "Too young for me and all that, you know. Electronics are way too advanced for someone of my age."

"That joke doesn't work when you have an iPhone, silly," Kurt teases, but his grin grows wider, if possible, and stretches his frozen cheeks almost painfully. He throws his arms around Blaine's neck, breathes in deep the spice of his cologne and aftershave. They kiss until Roy honks and Blaine parts sheepishly, his lips slick with Kurt's saliva, and Kurt's so hopelessly addicted to this man already, past head over heels and into flat on his back.

"Better get back to your dad," Kurt says, smirking, and Blaine parts with one last kiss before he's gone. Kurt stands in the stoop long after the car has disappeared, wonders how he's going to tell Rachel, how he's going to tell _everyone_. He jumps up and down a few times, squealing quietly, and stares up at the sky as he bites back his grin.

He has a boyfriend.


	4. How Everyone Finds Out

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "His Girl Friday" by The Academy Is...

This fic is age difference, so if that's not your cup of Earl Grey, don't read. This story is also cross-posted to my Tumblr (endofadream), so a good chunk of this fic is already written and will be updated as regularly as I can keep it. The rating will go up in future chapters, as well as the word count. And, as always, thank you :)

* * *

**To Kurt (1:45PM):  
**_What are you doing?_

**To Blaine (1:50PM):  
**_Going through lists of accessories for Isabelle for the next issue. Ugh. And there's this amazingly adorable fox brooch from Les Nereides Nobles Betes that puts the fox shirt I have to shame._

**To Blaine (1:51PM):  
**_But enough about me. What about you? How does the wonderful Blaine Anderson spend his days? Sipping champagne under the blue skies? Having his back massaged by beautiful, shirtless men?_

**To Kurt (2:00PM):  
**_A lot of phone calls for meetings, actually. No champagne and cute men for me._

**To Kurt (2:03PM):  
**_Well, except for the one I'm texting… ;)_

**To Blaine (2:06PM):  
**_Blaine, what am I going to do with you?_

**To Kurt (2:20PM):  
**_Do you want to come by my place tonight?_

**To Kurt (2:21PM):  
**_I'm so sorry if that came across as really forward, but as much as I love taking you out, I want to take you home, too._

**To Kurt (2:22PM):  
**_But not like that! I just mean I want you to see my place._

**To Kurt (2:23PM):  
**_Wow I'm sorry. I'm really out of practice._

**To Blaine (2:26PM):  
**_Blaine, it's fine. If it makes you feel any better, I laughed. But in a purely good way, of course._

**To Blaine (2:26PM):  
**_And I'd love to see your place._

**To Kurt (2:32PM):  
**_Great! We'll pick you up at six. And dress in something comfortable. I'm ordering a pizza and we're gonna do this boyfriends thing right by cuddling on the couch and watching a movie._

**To Kurt (2:32 PM):  
**_btw are you a pepperoni or a mushrooms kind of guy? Because I think that if you don't say mushrooms this relationship might not last._

**To Blaine (2:34PM):  
**_I love mushrooms, silly. But I think I'd be happy eating anchovies as long as it was with you._

**To Kurt (2:35PM):  
**_:) it's a date then, Mr. Hummel._

"Who are you texting?" Isabelle asks in passing as she glides by into her office, the lingering scent of Trésor sweet and heady behind her. "And if you have the accessories list done, email it to me, sweetie."

"Okay." Kurt smiles down at his phone, stares at the words in the blue and gray chat bubbles until they blur, and says, in a whisper he's sure Isabelle doesn't hear, "My boyfriend."

* * *

Kurt's sure he's going to throw up. Rachel's gone—out with Brody again, he remembers with an eye roll—and he's alone as he waits for Blaine to pick him up. He'd been completely cavalier about it when he was texting Blaine, but now that he's home and doesn't have projects or phones or discussions to distract him, it's really sinking in where he's going twenty minutes or so.

Being invited over to your boyfriend's house for the first time probably wouldn't be a big deal for others, but for Kurt, who's never dated and who's never been to someone else's own apartment, it is. Just a year ago, if someone had invited Kurt over he would have had to meet their parents, too. But Blaine has an apartment—an empty apartment, Kurt thinks with a gulp, and he feels his palms sweat. He wipes them on the soft cotton of his yoga pants, then wonders of he's too dressed down.

Blaine had said comfortable, but Kurt could maybe be taking it to a different level. What if Blaine shows up dressed to kill, and then there's Kurt, looking like he's on his way to an afternoon of classes at NYU. He bolts up from the couch and runs to his room, sifting through racks of clothes urgently as he tries to piece together a decent outfit before Blaine texts to tell him he's here.

It's ridiculous; Kurt rationalizes as he nearly falls while pulling off his pants to slip on a pair of looser-fitting jeans, to be _this_ worried. He and Blaine are already dating—a thought in itself that makes him squirm happily and grin like an idiot—so why should he be this worried?

_He's older_, a little niggling voice says as Kurt grabs a soft, slightly-oversized sweater and slides it on. _He's experienced. And he could have anyone he wanted—but he chose you, and you don't want to screw that up_.

And he doesn't. He wants to prove to Blaine that he isn't just some wide-eyed kid, that dating Blaine isn't going to be for personal gain. Kurt had meant it when he'd told Blaine that he was happy, and he thinks he's always going to mean it. He doesn't need trinkets or dinners or Broadway tickets: he just needs Blaine.

His phone dings across the room just as he's slipping on a pair of shoes, and he almost wishes that Rachel were here to calm him down as he lunges for it, unlocking it and fixing his hair carefully with one hand.

**To Kurt (6:01PM):  
**_Your chariot awaits, my prince :*_

_That's_ new, the kissing face, and Kurt remembers that he can kiss Blaine now, whenever and wherever he wants, because they're actually _dating_. He smiles, laughs, and quickly texts Blaine back, grabbing his jacket and keys, leaving a note for Rachel on the fridge, and running out of the apartment, doubling back when he remembers that he'd forgotten to both lock the door and shut off the lights.

Blaine is just outside the car, as usual, bundled up in a thick scarf, navy blue pea coat, and low-key jeans. When Kurt sees him he grins, forgetting all dignity and poise as he runs toward Blaine, flinging his arms around Blaine's shoulders as he kisses him, Blaine's lips soft and pliant and slightly damp under him. Blaine's hands flail for a moment as he regains his composure, and then they go around Kurt's waist.

Blaine's eyes are still closed when Kurt pulls away, lips still slightly pursed, and it's another moment before Blaine blinks, smiles, and Kurt thinks he could watch the crinkle of Blaine's eyes, the little secret curve of one side of his mouth, all day. His hands tighten on Kurt's back, and he sways them lightly side-to-side. "Well, hel_lo_, beautiful. I missed you, too."

Kurt hides his smile in the soft cotton of Blaine's scarf, and inhales deep, breathing in spice and floral. He wraps his arms a little tighter around Blaine's neck, moves his head to press his lips to the soft skin just under Blaine's jaw, and feels his stomach flutter pleasantly, his heart palpating like it's been jumpstarted. "I'm hungry."

The rumble of Blaine's laugh echoes in his throat. "Let's go, then."

* * *

Knowing that Blaine has a lot of money and seeing it are two very different things, and Kurt isn't proud of the way his jaw drops when the elevator finally stops at the very top floor—Blaine's sprawling, floor-to-ceiling windowed penthouse. It's like taking a step into a magazine: the floors are highly-polished dark cherry wood, a sprawling spiral staircase leads upstairs, the kitchen is modern stainless steel full of enviable, top-of-the-line appliances, and the living room hosts a full set of plush-looking white suede furniture and a huge flat screen TV mounted into the wall above a gas fireplace.

"Welcome home," Blaine says, the door clicking shut behind him, and his voice carries, echoes. Kurt stands still, feels the drop of his jaw as he stares at the glittering New York skyline. "It's a bit too modern for me," he admits with a touch of embarrassment, "but I make it work. Personally, I like the bedroom the best."

He walks past Kurt as he says this, throwing a wink over his shoulder, and Kurt inhales a gulp, wondering if it's appropriate to stare shameless at Blaine's ass as he hangs up his coat and scarf in a hall closet a few feet away. "It's…nice," he croaks out, shrugging off his coat and putting it in the closet with Blaine's, and even the _closet_ is huge and easily three times the size of his own back at home in Ohio.

"Roy went to pick up the pizza," Blaine says as Kurt cranes his neck to look up at the recessed lighting and high ceilings. "Do you have a movie preference?"

Kurt snaps himself out of it, shaking his head and hugging his arms tight to his torso. He smiles, and suddenly he's giddy again, his initial shock worn off. He bites his lip, steps forward onto the thick, plush, cream-colored rug in the center of the floor. "I'm not picky. To be honest, I've been too busy for the past few months to even really know what's out in theatres."

"Mm, well," Blaine says, draws it out and opens his arms, and Kurt goes easily, letting himself be pressed close to Blaine's chest, "lucky for you I've got Netflix."

Kurt cups Blaine's cheek, marvels at the feel of black-and-gray stubble under his palm, and looks into his eyes. They soften, searching, and they fall down for only a second before back up to meet Kurt's. He can't get over this easy intimacy, the way they can stand so close, and he leans in, brushing his lips against Blaine's because he _can_, because it's still new and Kurt gets the feeling that it'll always feel this new.

"How lucky," Kurt murmurs, and he's so close he can count the individual freckles on Blaine's nose. "How lucky that I can…do this." And he kisses him, slow and languid like time has stopped just for them. Blaine laughs, Kurt can hear the huff of breath; feel the stretch of a smile. Kurt places his hand on the back of Blaine's head, holding, pressing, as their lips slide and his body warms pleasantly, the faint fire of arousal throbbing low and still bearable just under the surface of his skin.

The pizza arrives ten minutes later, and they end up watching _Pretty in Pink_ because Kurt's never seen it, something, Blaine says, is a tragedy all in its own. Kurt doesn't pay much attention as they curl up together and eat, paper plates with greasy, cheese-bubbling pizza on their laps. Kurt eyes the red sauce, then the white couch, and says, skeptically, "Do you think we should be eating here and not, you know, your awesome kitchen?"

Blaine carefully lifts a slice to his mouth, bites off a piece and shrugs. "You aren't a messy eater, and I'm not a messy eater, so I think we'll be okay."

"But what if something happens?"

"Then we either flip the cushion or I get a new couch. Either way it's win-win."

Kurt fights back a smile, takes a bite and licks sauce off his thumb. He catches Blaine watching and lets his smile bloom, turning it into a mischievous smirk as he lifts a piece of mushroom off and eats it, carefully licking his fingers afterwards. "You're such a boy."

Blaine raises an eyebrow, wetting his lower lip. He looks from the TV, to Kurt, then to the half-eaten piece of pizza on Kurt's place. "What, because I'm willing to flip a couch cushion if it gets dirty, or because I'm staring at my boyfriend as he licks his fingers?"

Kurt's breath catches in his throat, and he shivers. He's never seen that predatory look on Blaine's face before, sultry and desiring, and he fights back the urge to whimper. "Maybe a little bit of both."

Kurt just now notices how Blaine's Ralph Lauren polo falls open at the throat, exposing the hollow, a faint hint of dark chest hair, and he aches to reach out, to touch and have and _take_. Blaine leans forward, sets his plate on the large glass coffee table, and Kurt follows suit. The TV plays in the background, but images of Molly Ringwald and Jon Cryer fade from Kurt's mind.

"Tell me that again," Kurt whispers as Blaine scoots closer. Blaine's hand is on the back of his neck, then, firm and supporting, and he places his other on Kurt's chest, shifting to one knee on the couch as he gently lowers Kurt down.

Kurt grabs Blaine's hand as he rubs it lightly along his chest, and with a soft, cut-off voice Blaine murmurs, "_Boyfriend_."

He says, in that same soft voice, "Is this okay?"

Kurt lifts up, propping himself up on his elbows as Blaine lowers himself on top of Kurt. "_Yes_."

Kurt clutches at Blaine's shoulders, pulling him down closer as he works Blaine's lips open with his tongue, drawing back to nip, suck, before kissing him again, hard and deep and desperate. Blaine shifts on his knees, and Kurt spreads his legs, hooks one around Blaine's thigh. Blaine's stubble scratches his cheeks and he giggles, squirming at the tickle-then-burn, and he slides his hands down Blaine's back, over the dips of his spine and stopping just above the waistband of his jeans, and he takes a moment to realize that this is the first time he's had the heavy weight of another man pressing on him, pinning him down and grounding him.

He gasps when Blaine kisses down his cheek, then his neck, and he has to bite his lip to keep from moaning. He's never had anyone kiss his neck before, and he hadn't been prepared for how it would _feel_, like even the slightest press is hardwired to drive him crazy. Blaine's tongue drags, hot and wet, and his teeth are sharp when he nips, and Kurt bites hard on his lip, whining and pressing hard to the back of Blaine's head.

Blaine slides back with a drag, a hungry inhale of air, and he kisses Kurt deep and sound, pulling back just enough to murmur, "Don't be quiet, baby. Let me hear you."

And hearing the pet name, the husk to Blaine's voice, the swollen red of his lips and the flush of his cheeks, is what brings Kurt back to reality. "Stop," he gasps, an Blaine immediately pulls back, sits up, putting space between them as Kurt pulls himself into a sitting position, ignoring the uncomfortable ache between his legs as he gingerly situates himself.

"Did I go too fast?" Blaine asks anxiously, worrying his lower lip.

Kurt shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair and closes his eyes. He tips his head towards the ceiling, counts to ten and looks back down. Blaine's brows are furrowed in worry, and his salt-and-pepper hair is in slight disarray from Kurt's fingers. It makes Kurt smile, proud that Blaine looks disheveled because of him.

"You were fine," Kurt assures, and he takes Blaine's hands, smiles. "I just…we should talk before we get carried away. Not about sex," he quickly adds when he sees Blaine open his mouth. "Not yet. Right now I kind of…I think I need to know more about you before me. You said you'd been engaged before, right?"

"It wasn't serious," Blaine replies dismissively, but Kurt knows better.

"You were _engaged_," Kurt presses, and he makes sure to leave no room for argument in the tone of his voice. "That's serious."

Blaine sighs, retracts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, and suddenly he _does_ look his age, forty and world-weary, and Kurt honestly doesn't think he's ever seen anyone as handsome as Blaine. "I'd never been in love," Blaine says simply. "We were serious, and I think I loved him to the point I even asked him to marry me, but it just wasn't right. He didn't make me _feel_. He didn't make me want to come home, want to have someone else beside me in bed every night. He didn't make me want to try, and that's when I knew that maybe I wasn't in love, maybe I was just trying so hard to _find_ love that I was willing to make it up and settle. Jeremy was a great guy, and what I did to him was horrible."

Kurt scoots closer, frowns, and is shocked to find tears misting in Blaine's eyes when he lifts his head. "Hey," Kurt murmurs, reaching out to cup Blaine's cheek. "He doesn't blame you, does he?"

Blaine shakes his head. He offers Kurt a wan smile, and asks, "Have you ever been in love?"

It's a moment before Kurt shakes his head, but he does, and then Blaine's gentle fingers touch his wrist and he's turning his head, placing a kiss to the tender underside, and Kurt shivers, body crackling and sparking like he's just been flipped on.

Kurt wants to kiss Blaine so badly, then, wants to make him forget every bit of pain he's ever felt, and he does, hopes that the gentle press of lips conveys what Kurt isn't sure his muddled brain could come up with the words to say. But Blaine looks grateful when he pulls away, and they settle against the back of the couch, pizza forgotten as Kurt holds Blaine close and counts his breaths. He's never had anyone to hold while watching a movie before.

* * *

A few days later another package arrives for Kurt at work, courtesy of Kenny. His name is written in Blaine's slanted handwriting, and the mailing envelope is small and light. Kurt shoos Kenny away, practically shoving him out of the office, and only once he knows he's safe from Kenny's prying eyes does he open the package.

There isn't a note, just a small, tissue-paper wrapped object. Kurt lifts it up, notices the diaphanous quality of the paper, the small, sooth edge of something metal under his finger. He tears it carefully, unwrapping the paper slowly with soft, rustling noises until, finally, a wooden pin of a fox falls to his desk.

Kurt doesn't need a note, because, despite a throwaway text with an offhand comment, Blaine had remembered the pin that Kurt had liked, hadn't even needed to ask what it looked like to get it. He knows he should yell at Blaine—he didn't really _need_ the pin, and it was close to two hundred dollars—but he also remembers the promise to himself to not complain, to just go with it and be happy for once.

Like Blaine had planned it, the pin goes perfectly with the camel-colored sweater and light gray scarf Kurt's wearing today, and he pins it easily to his scarf, tilting it up to look at the blue eyes of the fox, the white enamel of his tail and underbelly markings. When Isabelle comes by, she stops, stares, and Kurt knows she recognizes it. She doesn't say anything, though, and only gives him a small smile that tells Kurt she knows that _something_ is up.

Kurt bites the inside of his cheek as he gets back to typing more memos.

* * *

"Finn called last night. He asked how you were doing."

The words wake Kurt up faster than the meagerly strong coffee in front of him, and he snaps his head up, looking at Rachel with rounded, alarmed eyes. "He what?"

Rachel leans against the counter, her own mug of green tea in her hands. "Yeah, while you and Blaine were out. He wanted to tell me how coaching the New Directions was going and we started talking about New York. And then he asked if you were there. Said something about how you haven't called home in a few months."

Kurt's mouth feels dry. Rachel has a problem keeping things to herself, and at the moment she's the only one who knows about Kurt and Blaine's relationship. He hasn't called home because he knows his dad will ask if he's seeing anyone, and the last thing Kurt wants to do is lie. He'd wanted to hold off, maybe try to find a way to gently break the news to him and Finn and Carole. It's still too much, too new and unstable, to go around announcing it.

"What did you say?" Kurt finally asks, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He pushes his mug away, runs his hands through his hair. His heart pounds hard, and Rachel's initial silence tells him everything he's already been dreading. "What did you do? _Rachel, what did you do_?"

"I—I told him you were seeing someone," Rachel replies, sounding shocked. "I thought you had already told everyone."

"No!" Kurt gets up and starts pacing the floor. His stomach knots, roils, and he has to take deep breaths to calm himself down. "I wanted to wait. Just because you approve of me dating Blaine doesn't mean that my family will."

"But he's a nice guy—"

"Who is twenty years older than me! How do you think that looks to other people?" Kurt's voice gets shrill, panicked. "You've met him and my dad hasn't. I just—I wanted to wait for the right time, and then you had to go and fuck it up, Rachel. Why can't you ever mind your own goddamn business?"

Rachel stares, slack-jawed, and Kurt doesn't care, doesn't even give her a second glance. He's being harsh, he's aware of that, but sometimes Rachel doesn't _think_, and though she may have good intentions she oversteps more often than not, and now is one of those times when he wishes that she'd just _ask_ before acting.

His phone has been on silent since he got home last night, and he hasn't checked it yet, wanting to at least get some coffee in him before reading any texts he might have from work or from Blaine. Now he dreads walking toward his bedroom, afraid of what he's going to find when he gets there.

The floorboards creak behind him, and his anger swells anew as he sets his jaw and turns around. Rachel is standing there, looking upset and nervous. "Do you think your dad called?" she asks in a quiet, timid voice. She wrings her hands together, shuffles on slippered feet. Kurt almost wants to hug her and apologize for yelling, but not now.

"I don't know," he says, slow and measured. "But I think I'd kind of like it if you left me alone right now, Rachel."

She's out of the apartment in ten minutes, mumbling something about grocery shopping. Kurt notices after she's gone that she left the list pinned to the fridge and left her wallet on the kitchen tale. He doesn't text her.

He hovers above his phone, staring at it before picking it up, afraid to unlock the screen and see what messages he has from Finn, from his dad, from Carole. From Blaine. His throat closes up at the thought of Blaine and their date last night where Blaine had taken him ice skating at Bryant Park. He remembers, with fondness and that same warm feeling in his chest, how he'd tripped and nearly fallen, but Blaine had caught him and nearly fell over himself. He'd kissed Kurt, then, too, dipped him low while their cold-numbed noses brushed and their wind-chapped lips stayed pressed together until Kurt had had to pull away to gasp for air. He remembers the gleam of Blaine's eyes in the light, the slight smattering of five o'clock shadow on his cheeks and jaw, the flattering lines in his face.

In his hand his phone rings. Kurt stares at it like he's in a dream, letting it buzz and over and over, his dad's name at the top of the screen, before he finally answers it. "…Hi, Dad."

Burt's voice is unapologetically explosive when he answers. _"What the hell is wrong with you?"_

"Dad, calm down, please," Kurt begs. His palms prickle with sweat, and his voice begins to edge into hysteria. This is not how he'd wanted it to go, how he'd wanted his first phone conversation with his dad in months to begin. "Your heart—"

_"I don't give a damn about my heart, Kurt. What I do give a damn about, however, is finding out that my son is dating someone _twice his age _after not hearing from him in over two months. And from Rachel of all people!"_

"Dad, Blaine's a really good guy." Kurt feels the sting of tears prick at his eyelids, and he grips his phone tighter, starts pacing the floor. "He really likes me, and I really like him. He makes me feel special, like I'm the only person who exists in the world when we're together. No one's ever made me feel like he has, Dad."

_"It's sick!"_ The words come as a slap to Kurt's face, and he feels his jaw drop, feels the warm-wet heat of tears slide down his face as his chin wobbles and his lower lip trembles. Those were the words he'd been so afraid to hear all those years ago before he'd come out, and he'd never thought that, after his father had accepted him, he'd ever have to hear those words directed at him in any way. _"This guy is a forty-year-old creep, and I refuse to let you keep seeing him. Kurt, you're not even twenty yet, you have no idea what people can do—"_

"I love him!" It comes out as a tear-thick shout, wobbly and unsteady and cracking in the middle, and the moment that Kurt says it on the fly he knows that it's the truth, knows that what he'd been feeling, bubbling quietly under the surface like magma waiting for the volcano to finally erupt, has been love this whole time, possibly from the moment he'd bumped into Blaine at Louis Vuitton. He's in love with Blaine.

There's a dense pause, silence, then a heavy sigh. Burt sounds resigned when he speaks again, and it's softer, quieter, though some of the acid is still there._ "Does he know?"_

Kurt falls to the couch, rubs his hand over his face. "I haven't told him yet. I—I wanted to be sure before I did. We've only been on five dates"—_and have made out in his ridiculously expensive penthouse more times than I can count_—"and I don't want to ruin anything. I don't want to lose him." He says that on a whisper, a breath.

The speakers crackle for a moment before Burt speaks again. _"I still don't approve of this, Kurt. What if he's just using you, luring you in? You're in New York now; there has to be other available guys out there."_

Kurt shakes his head. "No. I don't want anyone else. Blaine is…he could be it, Dad. He could be the one for me. I know that it's unconventional, and I know there will be problems, but I feel like I'm kind of already prepared for that since I'll always have problems because I'm gay."

Burt's chuckle is slightly reluctant, and Kurt suddenly feels inexplicably weary, bone-deep exhausted, for no reason, like a weight he's been holding up has finally been lifted and he's feeling the strain for the first time. _"I just want you to remember that when you're thirty, Kurt, he'll be fifty. And when you're fifty, he'll be seventy."_

"I know, Dad."

_"And you're prepared to take on responsibilities if this thing gets serious?"_

Kurt smiles to himself, rubbing at the heavy cotton of his sweats. "I'd do anything for Blaine."

Burt sighs, and Kurt can imagine him taking off his baseball cap to rub his head. _"You really are your mother's son, Kurt," _he says softly, and Kurt breathes in sharp, blinking at the sudden sting of tears. _"She always knew what she wanted, and she'd do whatever she could to get it."_

Kurt doesn't say anything in reply for a moment, mulling over words in his head, and he hesitates slightly before finally saying, "I really want you to meet him."

_"I know I should rip this guy a new one for even thinking that it was okay to put his hands on you in the first place,"_ Burt begins, _"but I haven't heard you this excited since you got that internship deal."_

"So you'll meet him?"

_"I can't be held responsible for anything that happens when I do, but…yes. Carole, too, though she's a little more positive about it than I am."_

Kurt only just resists the urge to squeal. "Blaine will be so excited."

Kurt thinks he can hear Burt mumble something like "should be _nervous_" under his breath, but he ignores it. It's not going to be easy, but Blaine's a charming man, and a businessman at that, and Kurt knows his father will come around sooner or later—though he's hoping sooner. He pushes his phone closer to his ear, says, "I love you, Dad."

_"I love you, too, kiddo. Promise me you'll be safe, all right?"_

"I promise."

_"And tell his Blaine kid that he'd better be a goddamn gentlemanly saint when I meet him."_

Kurt laughs, feels homesick fondness for his dad. "He's a regular Humphrey Bogart, charming lines and all."

It isn't until they hang up, Kurt sprawls across the couch to stare at the ceiling, that he has to somehow tell Blaine how he really feels. Though he rationally knows that he should have nothing to worry about, there's still that never-quite-dormant feeling of fearful inadequacy lurking.

"I love him," he says out loud, letting his voice carry and echo. His fingers drum on his chest, and every time he says those three little words, it gets more and more real. "I love Blaine Anderson."


	5. How They're Seen Through Another's Eyes

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "His Girl Friday" by The Academy Is...

This fic is age difference, so if that's not your cup of Earl Grey, don't read. This story is also cross-posted to my Tumblr (endofadream), so a good chunk of this fic is already written and will be updated as regularly as I can keep it. The rating will go up in future chapters, as well as the word count. And, as always, thank you :)

This chapter was also written as more of an interlude, and to give you some backstory to Blaine since I chose to write this story through Kurt's eyes.

* * *

Roy Mancini, a dark-haired, broad-shouldered, and well-built man with the beginnings of a beer belly he does his best to hide, has been working for Blaine Anderson for ten years, and he honestly doesn't think he's ever had a better boss. Blaine had been just thirty when he'd hired Roy, fresh into the beginnings of a wealth Roy has become used to seeing in his field of work. But one thing Blaine had retained was his great sense of selflessness, of generosity, that Roy has seen, sadly, dwindle down in others until it's completely gone. To Blaine, Roy has been a friend and confidante when he'd had no one else. To Roy, Blaine has been a source of somewhat personal inspiration.

When he'd taken on the job his wife, Tessie, had been late in the pregnancy of their second child, a son they'd named Jacob. When Roy had mentioned it, Blaine hadn't hesitated to give him permission to call off when needed. And when Tessie had gone into labor, Blaine had given him the week off afterward despite it being Fashion Week. Blaine had made gossip headlines arriving to events in a cab, but as he'd later mentioned with a smile as he'd seen Jacob for the first time, "At least they're giving me free publicity."

Roy had gone into the job with, regrettably, a few stereotypes already imprinted deep into his mind: Blaine was young, gay, and attractive, and Roy expected to be seeing a lot of young, gay, and attractive men in his backseat. But he never did, and the few times Blaine ever brought men home they were usually leaving the building and getting into their own cabs, wrinkled shirts and hungover eyes, when he'd pull up to the curb the next morning. It had never happened often, and Roy's glad it hadn't, because the haunted, hollow look in Blaine's eyes always made something uneasy stir deep in Roy's gut.

"You deserve better, you know," he'd said one day, glimpsing into the backseat to see Blaine staring unseeing out the window, mouth pulled down in a frown that had accented his premature stress lines. Blaine had given him a brief look, shrugged, and said nothing else. Roy never brought it up again, afraid he'd somehow overstepped his boundaries as a paid driver, but after that, Blaine hadn't brought any more men by.

And then there had been Jeremy.

Blaine had brought Jeremy—tall and brown-haired and blue-eyed, with sharp, angular features and a constant state of scruff—home after one of his shows, and Roy kept seeing him again and again and again. Whenever Jeremy was around, Blaine was smiling. And after a few months, Blaine had gotten into the car one day to tell Roy that he had proposed, and that Jeremy had said yes. Roy had never seen him look so happy, and his enthusiasm as he'd told Blaine congratulations had been true.

But then, abruptly, they had broken it off a few months after that, and Blaine was back to looking dejected and forlorn, putting on a smile in public but quickly losing it whenever he was alone. And there, in that state of stupor, he had remained until one night when he'd had Roy drive him back to Louis Vuitton and Blaine had emerged less than ten minutes later, a tiny bag in his hand. Roy hadn't asked questions, but he'd snuck a peek at Blaine through the rearview mirror and saw that excited smile, that look of wonderment, that he hadn't seen in so long.

And now, there's Kurt.

Kurt is just a _kid_, Roy thinks when he sees Kurt leave his own crappy apartment a few days later. He's a starry-eyed kid who eyes up Blaine, then the car, like he's never seen anything better—and if the apartment is any indication, he hasn't.

From the driver's seat, Roy gives a sigh, drums his hands on the wheel. He doesn't know what Blaine is doing, but he hopes to god that Blaine does. He sneaks a peek as they talk just outside the doors, and he hopes that this kid isn't just some passing fancy, or some pretty face who'd taken advantage of Blaine in some way.

When the kid slides into the backseat, Roy watches him run his hand over the leather, then look around. Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Kurt looks shyly down, biting his lip. He seems genuine and more than likely new to the city. Roy sighs, leans back in his seat, and despite his best efforts he fights back a smile, shaking his head as he waits for Blaine to climb in. Blaine introduces them when he does, and Kurt hangs on to his every word.

Roy watches them as he carefully navigates through Manhattan traffic: they speak in hushed tones, and they keep a respectful distance from each other. Blaine is, if nothing else, though, a gentleman, and although it's subdued Roy can hear the soft strains of excitement in their words as they talk about fashion and other things Roy has ever bothered to even try to be able to keep up with. He's a driver for a reason.

Later when he picks them up, he notices immediately that something has changed. They walk closer, hands held loosely between them, and Blaine's hand falls immediately to Kurt's thigh when they slide into the backseat. Kurt doesn't say anything for the rest of the ride as Roy and Blaine discuss the Giants game, but there's an unmistakable smile, lit by the passing glow of the city, on his face.

Roy politely doesn't watch as Blaine walks Kurt to his door, and he waits until Blaine's back in and they're pulled away from the curb to ask, "How'd it go tonight, Mr. Anderson?"

"Blaine," Blaine corrects in the way he's corrected Roy every day for nearly ten years. Roy likes to keep it professional, though, dropping formalities only when he's off the clock. "And it went…" He trails off and sighs happily, leaning against the backseat and bringing a hand up to scrub at his mouth. "Have you ever been really happy, Roy?" he finally asks, face turned in profile as he stares out the window.

"The day I married my wife," Roy says with a chuckle. "And every day since."

Blaine gives a small laugh at that and continues staring out the window. He doesn't say anything else, but Roy knows there's more going on, things Blaine won't divulge as of yet. He lets the silence stretch out, listens to the soft strains of classic rock on the radio, and asks, when they're pulling onto Blaine's street, "Will I be seeing more of this Kurt?"

And those are the words he'd needed to say: Blaine hums happily and gets a look on his face that Roy often sees on his sixteen-year-old, Laura, when she talks about the boys at school _she's_ _not allowed to date_. It's euphoria, excitement, eagerness, ecstasy. He doesn't even need to hear Blaine's answer to know that it's a yes.

The second time that Roy meets Kurt, Kurt is a little more composed. He's still trembling with excitement like a young, eager colt, but his posture is also relaxed, and his eyes don't roam like he's trying to commit his surroundings to memory. He smiles at Roy when he gets in, says hello in a soft voice.

Roy smiles back at him through the rearview mirror. "Good evening, Mr Hummel."

Kurt blinks at that, lips parting, and he stammers when he says, "Uh, just, uh, call me Kurt. Please. Mr. Hummel is a bit too…formal for me."

"Oh, Roy's a formal old man," Blaine teases, shutting the door behind him. He grins at Kurt, nudges his shoulder, and Kurt giggles, biting his lip and looking down. Roy watches the exchange silently, a little taken aback at how quickly they've evolved since the last time he'd driven them both somewhere. In a way, he feels a bit like a parent watching his children growing up, a feeling he knows all too well. "He's stuck in his ways."

Roy almost retaliates with an indignant _am not_ before catching himself, realizing he's been spending way too much time with Jacob lately. "Just doing my job," he says instead, putting the car into gear.

"Doing your job and making me feel like my father are two different things," Blaine says, and Roy feels a strong tug of remorse. He's heard the stories about Blaine's family, the reason why he never goes home, and though he knows that Blaine says it lightheartedly, he thinks that he should have at least known better.

He listens to Kurt tease Blaine in the backseat, hears the age jokes he often gets himself from his wife, and can't help finding himself getting oddly attached. Kurt and Blaine have something that Roy's never seen before, an instant connection, an easy, strong chemistry; he isn't sure exactly how to describe it. It's only the second time Blaine's taken Kurt out, but watching them, you'd think it was the twentieth.

"Roy," Kurt says suddenly, breaking into his thoughts. He leans close to the partition. "How many men would you say have been in this backseat?"

"Kurt!" Blaine exclaims, half-laughing, half-serious, and Kurt just laughs, waves off Blaine's hands when he tries to grab Kurt and pull him back down.

"Oh, I'd say about…hmm, I lost count at fifty or so."

"Roy, you are a _liar_ and I should have you fired right now."

Roy grins, looks through the rearview mirror to see Kurt sitting back down, fighting off Blaine's hands as he laughs. "You'd never fire me, Mr. Anderson. You love my wife's cooking too much, and god knows you'd never have a proper meal if she didn't have me bring you stuff."

"You don't know how to _cook_?" Kurt gasps.

"I grew up with maids and cooks!" Blaine defends, tugging at his bowtie. "I can cook the basic stuff, but sometimes not cooking is just easier."

"You poor thing," Kurt tsks, fussing over Blaine's collar and pulling an exaggeratedly sympathetic face. Roy can't help but notice the wideness of Blaine's eyes, the attentive way he watches Kurt, and he has to force himself to pay attention to the bright yellow bumper of the cab scant inches from the car. "You're lucky you have me around."

"I am," Blaine says, softly, as he grabs Kurt's wrist, and Roy's almost glad that they're here, because he'd been feeling increasingly voyeuristic, like he'd stumbled upon something he wasn't supposed to see.

And later that night, after Kurt's gone and it's just Blaine, bowtie undone and overcoat flung across the seat beside him, Roy puts the car into park at the curb in front of Blaine's building, turns around and raises a dark eyebrow as he asks, "Well?"

Blaine faces him, worrying his lower lip, and it's a moment before his face breaks out into a wide, wide smile, and Roy smiles back because it's contagious when Blaine is happy. "I asked him to be my boyfriend."

"And?"

Blaine's voice is gently soft, secret. "He said yes."

Roy smiles, blinks back tears. He doesn't usually get emotional, especially like this, but he's close to Blaine, and is becoming increasingly close to Kurt. Hell, he _likes_ the kid even, if he looks past the age difference. "I'm real happy for you, Blaine."

"It's because of you," Blaine says, suddenly. He barrels on, ignoring Roy's confused look. "You told me I deserved better, and I realized that what I was doing wasn't helping. So I waited, and finally my something better came along."

"It's about damn time, too," Roy replies, and Blaine laughs, deep and genuine, and gives him one last smile before opening the door.

"Thank you," Blaine says, pausing. The chilly air whips its way into the car, but they both ignore it. He's gone before Roy can reply, but he knows that he doesn't need to tell Blaine how good it is to see the life, the happiness, back in his eyes after years of slogging around and going day by day through sole motions and routine alone.

And Kurt is just what Blaine had needed.


	6. How They Finally Say 'I Love You'

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "His Girl Friday" by The Academy Is...

This fic is age difference, so if that's not your cup of Earl Grey, don't read. This story is also cross-posted to my Tumblr (endofadream), so a good chunk of this fic is already written and will be updated as regularly as I can keep it. And, as always, thank you :)

I'm going to totally spoil you guys tonight: a double update because I've been shirking my duties! Also, please note that this is the chapter where the warning finally goes up.

* * *

"My dad found out about us."

Blaine sucks in a breath, tosses out one last piece of bread to the ducks. For early February, it's a fairly warm day, and Blaine had taken Kurt to his favorite spot in Central Park, a beautiful spot with a sprawling view of the cityscape. "Did you tell him?"

Kurt shakes his head and chews on a thumbnail. He crosses his legs and nudges the frames of his wannabe Ray-Bans up his nose. "Finn called—he's my stepbrother—and Rachel told him, and then he told my dad."

"Who told you."

Kurt winces at the memory, but nods. "Yeah, he called me."

Blaine sighs and leans back against the bench, adjusting his own Armani sunglasses. "How bad was it?"

Kurt laughs, though it's slightly dry and humorless, and looks at Blaine out of the corner of his eye as a woman jogs past them. "Well, it could have been worse, let's leave it at that. I managed to talk him down, though I think he's also mad because I've been hiding it and haven't called them since before we started seeing each other."

"You haven't?"

"I didn't want to tell him about you yet, and I knew he'd ask if I'd found a special guy yet, and I hate lying to my dad. He was all I had a long time, you know? We've always been honest with each other."

Blaine nods slowly, re-crossing his legs. He doesn't say anything for a minute or so, and Kurt stews in his own _maybe I should have_s and _this was a dumb decision_s. It's not that he regrets not telling his dad—in a way, he doesn't, because his dad really is the most important person Kurt has. He'd accepted Kurt when there had been the fear and possibility that he wouldn't, and he'd done his best all those years ago to make everything at least appear okay after Kurt's mom died.

Burt just wants the best for him, Kurt knows. And he doesn't blame his dad for yelling. But, Kurt is also an adult now. He's on his own, he can make his own choices, and he's not as naïve as everyone thinks he is. He didn't accept Blaine just because he's handsome or because he has an account balance with more zeroes than most people could ever dream of having. He'd accepted Blaine because it's not often that Kurt feels like he does when he hears Blaine's voice, or sees a text message from him, or even kisses him.

_It's because you love him_.

And there's the problem—love. It's what Kurt feels when he looks over now and lets himself leisurely stare at the curve of Blaine's jaw, the slight bump in his nose, the full, softly pink lips. When he sees Blaine, he sees a future. And it is, honestly, terrifying for him. Over the past few days, Kurt's typed it out in text, had opened his mouth in the middle of Blaine talking, but ultimately he'd erased those three little words, had snapped his jaw shut before he could let himself fully think about what he was going to do. None of those times had felt right, and Kurt wants it to be _perfect_.

He's snapped out of his thoughts by Blaine's hand on his, and he easily slips his fingers through the slots of Blaine's, and smiles. Blaine takes off his sunglasses, squinting against the afternoon sun, and Kurt watches the crow's feet fan out, watches the sharpness of the gold highlighted by the sun in Blaine's irises.

He leans over quickly, steals a kiss from Blaine, and bites his lip as he pulls away. Blaine's fingers flex in his grip, and he isn't sure what he did to get so damn lucky.

"Cheeky," Blaine teases, nudging Kurt playfully. He leans in, presses a kiss to Kurt's cheek. "So was your dad okay with us being together?"

Kurt nods slowly, feeling a little thrill at the acknowledgement of them as boyfriends, at the warm press and memory of Blaine's lips. "I think so. He said he wants to meet you."

Blaine sucks in a breath, chews at his lower lip. "Okay."

"He just wants you to be, and I quote, a 'goddamn gentlemanly saint.' Think you can manage?"

Blaine laughs and scoots closer so that their thighs are touching. "If that's all he wants, I think we'll be okay."

A light breeze picks up, ruffling Kurt's hair. He almost wants to say it now, and now would honestly be as perfect a time as any: there's no one around, the weather is perfect, the view is perfect, they're holding hands, and Kurt feels the words on the tip of his tongue, _I love you, I love you I love you I love you_—

But then Blaine's phone rings, and he gives Kurt an apologetic look as he glances at the screen and says, "Client. I'm sorry, honey, hold on."

Kurt sighs and crosses his arms, staring at the city across the lake. He feels relieved, too, because he still isn't sure if Blaine feels the same way. He settles for listening to Blaine talk as he checks his own phone, and when he looks up to find Blaine staring at him in a way Kurt's never seen, open and raw and amazed, Kurt smiles and decides that maybe it can wait for a little while longer. As long as Blaine never stops looking at him like _that_.

It's funny, Kurt thinks. Love is supposed to be this great rollercoaster ride, one you do blind, where you can't see the twists and curves and unexpected corkscrews. But being in love with Blaine...it's like he's been given eyes, brand new ones that allow him to see what had been there all along. It's so obvious that he wonders how he hadn't seen it before, the way Blaine makes him feel secure, safe, like he's holding the universe in his hands and it's all for Kurt. And, at the same time, Kurt's surprised at how normal he feels, like _everyone_ should feel this way all the time, and why hadn't he before?

Blaine deserves to know what he does to Kurt, and Kurt _wants_ to tell him, wants to so badly. He wants to be able to say it every night when Blaine calls, and every morning when Blaine texts. He wants to say it idly, and say it seriously. He wants Blaine to know how serious Kurt is about them, how much he wants this relationship to last.

But that, however, is the terrifying part.

* * *

Kurt's still a little mad at Rachel, and he feels guilty at making her walk around eggshells for the better part of a week, but he figures that, if nothing else, maybe she'll learn to keep her mouth shut when it comes to other people's business. He won't be mad forever, especially not with them being the only people in the apartment, but he needs to get it out of his system.

This morning Rachel is gone already when Kurt heads to the kitchen to eat before he goes into work. All that's there is a note on the table next to a plastic-wrapped giant blueberry muffin from the bakery around the corner that Kurt favors so much.

_Kurt—_

_I had an emergency rehearsal for a group project in my dance class, and I'm not sure when I'll be back. If you're still mad at me, I really am sorry. I bought you a muffin because I didn't have time to bake you my "I'm sorry" sugar cookies._

_I love you,_

_Rachel_

Kurt smiles, shakes his head and grabs the muffin. Rachel does mean well most of the time, and if Kurt wants to be honest he _does_ miss her. It wouldn't be so terrible to have a heart-to-heart, would it? They could sit down and talk maturely and rationally about, and then Kurt could have his best friend back. He stops by the mirror on his way out, gives his outfit a final once-over, and, still smiling, leaves the apartment.

* * *

"So, Kurt."

The voice comes out of nowhere, and Kurt jumps in his seat, clapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his shout. He hadn't heard anyone come in, and when he looks over to see Isabelle standing a few feet away, he knows why. That woman is like a cat, despite her six-inch heels. "Jesus, Isabelle," Kurt gasps, letting his hand flutter to his heart as it pounds fast-fast-fast. "You _scared_ me."

Isabelle laughs and walks forward until she's scant inches away from Kurt's desk, her Trésor perfume blanketing them like a cloud. "Good morning," she says lightly.

"Good morning," Kurt replies, skepticism heavy in his voice. He taps a button on the keyboard, the screen slowly melting from black to the blue of the start screen. He types in his username and password, side-eyeing her the entire time as she looks idly at the pens and post-its on his desk. "Do you…need anything from me?"

"Oh, no." Isabelle waves it away, smoothes down the peplum on her dress, and Kurt nods approvingly at her outfit—not like he'd expected any less, though. "I just wanted to tell you some rumors that I heard last night at the launch of Calvin Klein's new campaign."

"Rumors about what, exactly?"

"Oh, this and that." Isabelle opens a drawer, and Kurt gets the overwhelming urge to slap her hands away. He likes her, but he doesn't like her nosiness. "Mainly things about Blaine Anderson and a very cute young boy."

Kurt gulps, feeling his eyes widen, his hands hovering just above the keys. "W-What about Blaine Anderson and a cute young boy?"

"Just that they've been seen together a lot. Ice-skating, holding hands in the park, kissing…stuff like that. And when someone showed me a picture, imagine my surprise when I should see my favorite young intern, Kurt Hummel, leaving one of the city's trendiest restaurants hand-in-hand with the man responsible for half the model contracts in the fashion industry as of the new 2013 quarter."

"Oh." Kurt's voice is small, and he shrinks in his chair. "Yeah. About that."

Isabelle is silent for a moment, then she laughs, and Kurt feels more confused than he'd like. She'd sounded grave, somber, as she'd told him the news, and for a moment Kurt was sure that his job was in jeopardy, as was his reputation.

"Kurt! Oh, sweetie, you're not in _trouble_. Hell, if I could snatch up Blaine Anderson I would, too, but that man is harder to get than the new Chloé bag. This leaves me, and half the people in Manhattan, wondering how you did it."

Kurt shrugs, lips curling into a smile as he ducks his head and stares at his fingers as he types into the Google search bar. He's not entirely sure, either, but he chooses to not dwell on it anymore. He's just happy to be happy, to have a _boyfriend_.

He says, fondly, "I ran into him. Literally."

* * *

Mail brings Kenny at exactly ten o'clock, and Kurt is surprised to see a package in his hand with his name on it. Kenny hands it to him, eyebrows raised, and Kurt takes it with a sheepish smile and a brisk thanks. He puts it down on the desk and goes back to look at the file he'd been handed earlier, but Kenny doesn't go away, and after two excruciating minutes Kurt finally gives an exasperated sigh and shuts the file, looking up.

"Is there something you wanted, Kenny?"

"You are a curiously popular person all of the sudden," Kenny replies. Kurt does not like the deceptive, light tone of his voice, nor does he like the suspicion that's edge in there as well.

"I'm a charmer, what can I say," Kurt replies glibly, giving a shrug. "Now can I please finish reading in peace?"

"Don't you want to open it?"

"I can do it later, on my lunch break."

Kenny picks up the package and hands it to him, staring pointedly at Kurt until he accepts with and reluctantly tears it open. The package had been slightly heavier than normal, and when Kurt opens it he sees why.

In his hand is the signature black sleeve for Ray-Bans and in that is a pair of tortoiseshell wayfarers. He sucks in a breath, eyes widening, and cradles them gently. A small yellow scrap of paper peeks out from the case, and Kurt dislodges it, flipping it over to read it.

_Kurt—_

_You can get rid of the ones you were wearing the other day now that you have the real deal ;)_

_xx Blaine_

"You must really be putting out for him."

Kenny's voice knocks Kurt out of his thoughts, and the smile he'd had upon seeing the note slowly slips off his face as he blinks. "I—I'm not."

Kenny raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. "Are you sure?" he asks levelly. "Because you're getting an awful lot of stuff. _Expensive_ stuff."

"We're dating," Kurt snaps, suddenly feeling his temper rise. He quickly stows away the sunglasses in a drawer, tries to act like what Kenny's saying _isn't_ bothering him even as it touches over and over on some hidden nerve deep inside him. Kenny doesn't need to pry, to know about Blaine's insistence that he buy anything and everything for Kurt, even when Kurt doesn't ask. He knows how that looks to others, to those who just don't _understand_, and he doesn't want to discuss it or argue about it anymore.

"Are you sure about _that_?"

"He asked me to be his boyfriend, and I said yes. Simple as that."

"Nothing's ever as simple as that," Kenny replies. "If he's buying you all of this and you're still not fucking him, then maybe it's a hint. Or maybe Blaine just said you were boyfriends, bought you all of this stuff, to get into your pants." He shrugs. "It wouldn't surprise me, someone like him."

Kurt stares unseeing at his computer as Kenny walks away. His stomach roils, lurches treacherously, and he feels the muffin try to claw its way back up his throat. Kenny can't be right. Blaine can't want…_that_. They haven't talked about it, and Blaine had never expressly mentioned anything about wanting more than what they have.

But could he be right? Blaine isn't young, and Kurt knows he's a lot more experienced. He can't miss having sex since he's never had it, but what if Blaine does, and this is his way of asking Kurt about taking that next step?

Or…could Blaine really be using him?

No. Kurt shakes his head, sets his jaw and opens the file back up. Kenny is wrong, jealous asshole who wishes that his fiancé would buy him extravagant gifts and send appropriately sappy texts messages and voicemails. That's it: jealousy. There's no other explanation.

As much as Kurt tries to force himself to believe it, to not take Kenny's words to heart, he hears them in his head on repeat for the rest of the day.

_He's using you._

_Maybe it's a hint._

_You love Blaine, but Blaine's never going to love you._

* * *

Rachel's already home when Kurt unlocks the loft's door, and from the acrid smell of smoke and charred tofu, she's less cooking and more mutilating. Kurt's stomach rebels, and he winces, already strung and on-edge from wondering if everything he'd thought he'd had was a lie after all.

"Kurt!" Rachel appears around the corner, and he accepts the hug, squeezing her tight and letting out a sigh. It feels good to be close to someone after the day he's had, and he'll even accept not eating tonight or calling up Chinese again. "How was your day?"

Kurt shakes his head, sighs. He unbuttons his coat and heads to his partitioned-off room, dropping it and his bag on the bed. "I'd rather not talk about it."

Rachel makes a sympathetic noise, then disappears back off to the kitchen. Kurt follows after a moment, cracking his neck. He checks his phone for messages, but he has none, and though he knows that Blaine, as a businessman, is busier than Kurt is, it still makes his heart drop a little more.

"Well," Rachel begins, walking briskly toward him with a small package in her hands, "if it'll make you feel better, this arrived just before you got here."

Kurt accepts it after a moment's hesitation, eyeing it, then her, warily. Blaine's slanted handwriting is on the label, and that little ball of dread grows just that much larger. He's careful in opening it, tearing away paper and tape, and he gasps at the same time Rachel does when he pulls out a robin's-egg-blue box wrapped expertly with a white silk ribbon.

"Oh my god," Rachel gasps, raising her hands to her mouth as her eyes go wide.

Kurt's jaw drops, and he feels his hands begin to shake. Blaine had already gotten him sunglasses, what else could he possibly have bought? And from _Tiffany's_, of all places? He knows that Blaine had said to just sit back and accept, and Kurt had agreed, but this…this is too much.

"Open it!" Rachel exclaims. "Kurt, oh my god, I'm dying."

Silently, Kurt unties the ribbon, letting it hang from his hand like limp, gossamer curtains, and opens the lid of the box.

Inside is a sterling silver and titanium cuff edged in black and etched with roman numerals in the middle. It's…beautiful doesn't even begin to cover it, Kurt thinks as he stares in awe and slowly lifts it, reverently, from the white silk cushion. He doesn't put it on.

He wants to love it. He wants to accept his first gift from Tiffany's without a problem, but he can't. Kenny's voice is still playing in his head as his ears begin to ring. He can't do this anymore. Not if it's a lie.

"I have to go," Kurt says, suddenly. He turns and rushes to grab his coat, his wallet, pocketing the bracelet as he goes. He runs on autopilot, not hearing Rachel's confused questions as she follows him.

"Where are you—? Kurt!"

Kurt leaves without another word, sliding the door shut hard behind him as he takes the stairs two at a time.

* * *

When the cab pulls up to Blaine's building, Kurt throws a wad of cash at him, not even sure if it's the correct amount, which it probably isn't, before rushing away, yanking open the doors and running into the nearest elevator. The woman at the desk yells out something, but Kurt ignores her as he furiously presses the top button, rubbing the heel of his hand over his eye to push back the sting of tears.

When the elevator finally dings and the doors slide open, Kurt rushes out. He's almost at Blaine's door when he sees someone walk out, someone tall and blond and _gorgeous_. He doesn't spare Kurt a second glance as he breezes past, head held high as he accepts the open doors of the elevator. Kurt swallows hard, and he wonders if it had been a smart decision to come here at all.

But the bracelet is heavy in his pocket, and he forces himself to keep going. He needs answers, and as he knocks hard on Blaine's door, he's determined to get them one way or another.

A few seconds later Blaine is opening his door, a manila envelope in his hand and reading glasses perched on his nose. Kurt blinks, taken aback at this new sight, but he rights himself quickly, shaking his head and staring Blaine down.

"Kurt?" Blaine asks, surprised. He opens his door wider, and Kurt can see Blaine's gray sweatpants and black wife-beater. It's shocking to see him so casual, no gel in his hair, no bowties or designer jeans. "What are you doing here?"

But Blaine's voice brings him back, reminds him why he's here, and Kurt steps inside and drops his bag on the wood floor. The place smells warm, like home and apple cinnamon pies as a candle burns on the coffee table. He should probably jump into this slowly, ask Blaine about it rationally—it could take just a few minutes to rip off the band-aid and leave.

When he opens his mouth, though, none of that happens.

"Why was there another guy leaving your apartment?" he asks, clenching his hands into fists at his side.

Blaine sets down the envelope on the kitchen island and takes off his glasses, folding them and setting them on top. "What do you—?"

"The fucking boy leaving your fucking apartment!" Kurt's voice rises, and he doesn't try to tamp it down. "Did you bring him back here to fuck because I wasn't around? Are you fucking him because you're not fucking _me_?"

"Kurt, what on earth are you talking about?" Blaine looks genuinely concerned, and genuinely upset, but Kurt ignores him. He doesn't care anymore. If Blaine is going to use him, he's going to get out before it gets any worse. "Do you mean Alexander? The blond guy? He was one of my prospective models—he was just dropping off some headshots for me to look at."

"I don't believe you." Kurt had meant for it to come out forceful, but it comes out soft, scared, quiet and afraid. He hunches in on himself, biting his lip, and looks down at the floor.

"Kurt, darling, please," Blaine begins, pleads. "Why would I lie to you about something like that? Why would I need someone else when I have you? I don't _care_ about sex."

"Bullshit," Kurt spits venomously. "Why else would you send me gifts I could have never even dreamed about affording?"

"Because I l—"

"You were my first kiss!" Kurt shouts. The hot, wet heat of a tear slides down his cheek, and the stunned vision of Blaine standing in front of him blurs. He doesn't care that it's not necessarily relevant right now: he'd still never told Blaine, and if he's leaving after this, well…now's as good a time as ever. "You were my first _boyfriend_, and I let myself fall for it! And then I fell for you!"

Blaine steps forward, placing a hand on Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt jerks back, choking out a sob. "Don't touch me. I'm sick of being used. I'm sick of believing a lie."

Blaine's fingers are gentle when he tips Kurt's face up, and Kurt refuses to look anywhere but the floor until Blaine says, softly, "Look at me."

And Kurt does, reluctantly, feeling the fight gradually leave him. Blaine's face betrays no strong emotion, but Kurt can see the faint shine of tears, the creased furrow of a brow. They stay like that, silent, Kurt's face wet with tears as his shoulders shake, and when Blaine moves slowly in for a kiss, Kurt doesn't stop him.

He lets himself drown in it, falls into the deep end and doesn't try to come back up for air as he wraps his arms around Blaine's neck. The tang of salt and the slick of his tears is between them, ad Kurt kisses Blaine desperately, clinging to him. And then—he knows. This is the moment.

When they pull away, Kurt says it, soft and breathy and slightly broken. "I love you."

Their noses nudge, and Blaine breathes, "You love me?"

Kurt nods, cupping Blaine's cheek as he kisses him again, and again-again-again. "I love you."

Blaine's hand curls around Kurt's neck. "I love you, too," he replies, and Kurt pulls back to see him smiling, soft and genuinely earnest. How could he have doubted Blaine? How could he let himself become so overwrought with made-up emotions like he had, and to accuse Blaine of all of that?

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry."

"Shh." Blaine kisses him again. "Don't be. It's okay. I've got you." He pulls Kurt close, hums out something nameless, and Kurt presses his face into the crook of Blaine's neck, into familiar cologne and detergent and aftershave. Blaine is familiarity now—Blaine is home.

And it's why, when Kurt says it, he means it, he doesn't regret it. He isn't scared, really, not anymore, because Blaine is here. He loops his arms around Blaine's neck, kisses him again, and he breathes it out, soft and barely-there, "Make love to me."

Blaine's inhale is loud, surprised. "Are you sure?"

"I want you," Kurt breathes. "I've never wanted anyone like this, Blaine. I'm always going to want you, and that terrifies me almost more than sex."

Blaine hesitates, then nods. He steps back to put space between them, and when he holds out his hand, Kurt takes it immediately. Their fingers lock, Blaine's broad knuckles against his slender ones, and Blaine says, solemnly repetitive, "Are you sure?"

Kurt takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and nods. He looks at the stairs that he knows leads to Blaine's bedroom, and he looks at Blaine's face, at the loose, gray-flecked curls, honey-drip eyes, the slick pink mouth, and he knows. He's ready. He's—not scared, nervous, but he's ready.

Blaine leads them up the stairs, and once they reach the top, just shy of a closed door, Blaine pulls him close again, kisses Kurt until he's breathless and panting and flushed. "I love you," Blaine murmurs, and Kurt doesn't miss how his face lights up, how his lips curved specially to form those three little words, and Kurt giggles, feels giddy and light, and says it right back.

Then the door is opening and Kurt only has seconds to take in the crisp white of Blaine's carpet and walls, the dark burgundy of his duvet and curtains, before Blaine's hands are on his face and he's kissing him again, deep and _dirty_, and Kurt gasps when Blaine slides his tongue in, nips at Kurt's lower lip and draws it out before sucking.

He's dizzy with arousal, with this overwhelming desire to have and take, and he twists, grabbing onto Blaine's tank top, and then they're falling onto the bed, springs creaking as the plush duvet fluffs up around their bodies. Blaine laughs, a huff of air against Kurt's lips, and Kurt smiles as Blaine settles on top of him, wobbling unsteadily until he's situated.

Blaine leans down, presses a kiss at Kurt's throat that makes him sigh and tip his head back. "Hi."

Kurt's hands tangle in Blaine's hair, and he bites his lip as he says, "Hi."

Blaine stares down for a moment, silent, before saying, "I really am so, so lucky."

"You're just saying that because you're about to get laid."

"I mean it," Blaine insists. "You are…you are everything to me, Kurt."

Kurt swallows against the lump in his throat, blinks back the sting of tears. He runs his hands over the smooth skin of Blaine's shoulders, over the defined muscle and coarse hair of his chest. He'd never thought he'd be here, in bed with someone like this, and feel so full of emotion, of _love_, that he might burst if he doesn't express it somehow.

Blaine drops his body weight down onto Kurt as they kiss, and when Blaine shifts, grabbing Kurt's thigh to hike it up around his waist, Kurt feels, for the first time, Blaine's hard cock rub against his own. His body jolts, eyes rolling back, and Blaine kisses down his neck as he gasps. "Oh—_god_."

Blaine's tongue drags over salt-slicked skin, teeth sharp as he nips, but he doesn't suck a mark before he's sitting up and easily stripping off his shirt. Kurt gapes, doesn't care that he is as Blaine's muscles flex under his skin. He reaches up slowly, touches the subtle bumps of abdominals, the slight definition of pectorals. He thumbs over a nipple, and Blaine's back arches, eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a tiny moan; Kurt's next touch is bolder as he runs his hand down Blaine's torso, following the dark trail of hair until it ends at the waistband of his sweats.

"You're gorgeous," Kurt says. His eyes stray to the slight bulge of Blaine's cock under his sweats, and this time, instead of apprehension, he feels excitement, an eagerness he's never felt before as the twisting, hot claws of arousal become more achingly insistent.

Blaine smiles, sliding his hands up under Kurt's shirt. The touch of fingers at the soft skin of his stomach has Kurt arching reflexively, gasping, and Blaine slowly pushes it up until Kurt gets the hint and sits up, stripping it off. He tosses it off to the side and falls back to the sheets, parted-lipped and wide-eyed. "What are…?" His voice squeaks, and he trails off, flushes and clears his throat. "What now?"

Blaine doesn't reply; instead, he slides down until he's straddling Kurt's thighs. He keeps eye contact, doesn't break it as he reaches down and cups Kurt through his jeans.

Kurt exhales in a moan, low and resonating, and he grabs at the sheets as Blaine squeezes, then rubs, slow and just the perfect side of rough. Kurt moans again when Blaine's hands go for his button and zipper, and his stomach twists up tight as the snick of metal echoes under his own pants. This is really happening. Blaine is really undoing his pants and pulling them off and tossing them to the floor.

Blaine's sweats follow seconds later, and Kurt stares at the hard line of his cock against the light gray of his boxer-briefs. "I want to…" He swallows hard, wets his lips and lets his eyes flicker up to Blaine's, finds that Blaine's are dark, hooded, that his lips are parted and shining wet, that his cheeks are flushed. "Can I touch you?"

Blaine takes Kurt's hand, scoots forward and guides it to his lap; Kurt lets his palm curve over Blaine's cock, sucks in a breath as he feels the twitch of hard flesh under his hand. He rubs over the head, the bulge of Blaine's balls, and asks, quick and stilted and still slightly uncertain, "Can I—I want to suck you off. Please."

Blaine shakes his head, and Kurt deflates for a moment before Blaine's leaning down to kiss him again, trailing a hand between them to rub over Kurt through his own underwear before slipping the waistband down and taking him in hand. "Tonight's all about you, baby," Blaine says against his lips.

When Blaine sinks his mouth down around Kurt's cock for the first time, Kurt shouts, arching up and grabbing hard at Blaine's hair. His eyes squeeze shut, and he wants to watch, wants to follow the bob of Blaine's head with his eyes, not just with his hand, but he knows if he looks it'll be all over. So he listens: the sucking-slurping noises of Blaine's mouth, the hungry inhales as he pulls off to lave his tongue over the length of Kurt's cock, then sinks back down to the circle of his fist.

And Kurt doesn't realize it until Blaine pulls off, tugs Kurt's underwear down, then his own, that he's been babbling, "I love you, oh my god, Blaine, I love you so much, I love you I love you I love you—"

He's cut off only by Blaine, by the sure firmness of his lips, the slick slide of his cock against Kurt's hips as he settles between Kurt's legs. He props himself up on one hand, runs his fingers through Kurt's hair and looks down. "Are you ready?"

"I'm so ready," Kurt murmurs, pulling Blaine down to kiss uncoordinated over his jaw, the scratchy stubble of his cheek. "I want you to fuck me. I want _you_."

Blaine is quick in stretching him, nimble fingers slick and working in, one by one, until Kurt's body yields and he's desperate for more, fucking down onto _not enough, please, I need you_. He bites onto the heel of his hand when Blaine's fingers brush over his prostate, and he has to bite his lip again to keep from crying out when Blaine slides his fingers out and reaches for the condom.

Kurt watches him roll it on, and then Blaine's hand is on his face. Kurt nods, knows what Blaine is asking without needing to hear it, and holds on to Blaine's bicep as he slowly pushes in.

Blaine groans, lets his head fall forward. "Oh, baby—"

"I love you," Kurt gasps, squeezing his eyes shut as the ridge of Blaine's cock stretches him, then the long, thick length of him as he finally slides fully in. He cradles the back of Blaine's head, pulls him down, and Blaine presses slick lips to Kurt's shoulder, his throat, his jaw, his lips. "Tell me you love me, _please_."

"I love you." Blaine doesn't hesitate. "I love you, Kurt, so much."

Kurt grabs Blaine's hand and brings it to his chest, over the fast, hard _thump-thump-thump_ of his heart. "You do this to me. You make my heart beat so fast. At first I was scared, because I didn't know what to do. I'd never felt this way before. But then…I knew. I realized I knew it all along. I love you. I'm _in love_ with you."

Blaine breathes out shuddery, lips parted, cheeks flushed. His eyes are bright, wondrous as they shimmer with the faint mirage of tears, and he looks at Kurt like it's the first time all over again. Slowly, he leans down, and slowly Kurt lifts up, meeting Blaine halfway as their mouths seal together, lips sliding languidly as Blaine shifts, pulling out before sliding back in.

Kurt wraps his legs around Blaine's waist as Blaine lets his hand fall to the bed, forehead creasing as he fucks in steadily, their skin slapping mutedly together where it echoes in the openness of the room. "Oh, god. Blaine—_fuck_. Harder. Please, _harder_."

Blaine grunts, low and primitive, and he obeys, speeding up his hips until the bed creaks. He sinks his teeth into Kurt's shoulder, sucks a mark there that he soothes with his tongue, and his voice is frayed as he says, "I love you."

"Say it again," Kurt groans, digging his head back into the pillows as he arches up into Blaine's next thrust, wraps a hand around his cock to ease the need of orgasm.

Blaine's lips trail up to Kurt's ear, and he tugs on the lobe before whispering, "_I love you_."

One more tug of his hand has Kurt coming with a high-pitched moan, clenching around Blaine's cock as his body arches, twists, before falling slack against the bed. He turns his head toward the pillow as Blaine continues to fuck into him harder and harder until he's finally tensing up and moaning as his hips stutter, cock pulsing as he comes into the condom.

When Kurt turns his head Blaine kisses him as their bodies buzz with numbing static, and Kurt can feel the stretch of his lips against his own. "Wow," Blaine says, and he pulls back to slide out, keeping his fingers tight around the open end of the condom until he can slide it off and tie it. He reaches for the box of tissues, wrapping the condom in one and handing the box to Kurt, who takes it with red-flushed cheeks. He wipes off his chest and holds the tissue awkwardly until Blaine takes pity on him and laughs, getting up and tossing everything into the trashcan.

He snuggles in close to Kurt when he gets back to the bed, and Kurt lets himself bask in the afterglow, staring up at the high ceiling as he lets it all sink in. He's had sex. He's not a virgin anymore. He loves his boyfriend, and his boyfriend loves him back.

"Oh my god," he says.

From beside him Blaine laughs, low and sated, and he nuzzles against Kurt's shoulder, rubbing a hand over Kurt's sweat-slicked chest. "My thoughts exactly."

"I want to keep saying 'I love you,'" Kurt says, "but I don't want to wear it out."

"I love you," Blaine says, kissing Kurt's shoulder. "Hey, speaking of…where's the bracelet I got you?"

Kurt stiffens, remembering _why_ he'd come here in the first place. He shakes it off, though, as a thing of the past, a stupid misunderstanding. "It's in my jeans pocket." _I was going to throw it in your face and storm out before you saved me from myself_. "Why?"

But Blaine is already up and rotting through Kurt's jeans until he finds it and draws it out with a triumphant noise. When he gets back on the bed and all Kurt does is give him a confused look, Blaine raises an eyebrow and holds it out. "Look at it."

Kurt takes it and does, looking at the numerals and the shine of the platinum and titanium, at the letters on the inside…Wait. Letters. Kurt looks up at Blaine in shock before he's flipping the cuff around; there, on the inside in curving, etched letters, are those words, those powerful words Kurt had been so scared to say.

_I love you_.

He looks up again, and Blaine is looking at him, smiling softly. He looks so proud that Kurt is afraid he might start crying again. Blaine gently takes the cuff from him, urging Kurt's arm up. Kurt lets it hand there as Blaine eases the cuff on, then kisses at the prominent bone. He glances up through his lashes, and Kurt's stomach flips, somersaults, does anything and everything as his heart begins pounding again. _This is what you do to me._

"I was hoping it would surprise you," Blaine says. "I wanted you to know how I feel."

But Kurt doesn't listen as he moves forward, closes the space and kisses Blaine as a few tears slide down his cheeks. He cups Blaine's face, slides his palm over stubble and yielding skin as their mouths move. "I am so in love with you."

The warm heat of a tear hits Kurt's finger as Blaine says, "I love you, too."

Then, suddenly as they pull away, Blaine asks, "Do you want to stay the night?" A sly smile, then he adds, "I've always said this bed was too big for just one person."

Kurt laughs, runs his fingers through Blaine's hair and admires the glint of his cuff in the light. "Yes. I'd love to stay the night with you."


	7. How Their First Morning Together Goes

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "His Girl Friday" by The Academy Is...

This fic is age difference, so if that's not your cup of Earl Grey, don't read. This story is also cross-posted to my Tumblr (endofadream), so a good chunk of this fic is already written and will be updated as regularly as I can keep it. And, as always, thank you :)

* * *

Kurt opens his eyes to a sun-saturated room, to the feeling of a plush set of sheets and a warm arm over his bare chest. He lets his breathing stay even, slow, closes his eyes and focuses on the deep pulls of Blaine's, the warmth of those exhales on the skin of his neck. He shivers, wriggles his toes happily under the sheets, and smiles.

He's never woken up next to someone before. He's never woken up _naked_ next to someone before, and as he shifts his ass gives a twinge of pain that makes him blush and giggle and hide his face in the duvet. He's waking up next to his boyfriend, whom he told he loved last night and had asked to make love to him, which sounds admittedly cheesy now in the light of day but still feels so _right_ that Kurt doesn't regret it, doesn't regret _anything_, at all.

He stares up at the high, vaulted ceiling, listens to the faint thrum of traffic stories and stories below them. There's no ticking of a clock, nothing except the sound of Kurt's heartbeat and his own breathing as he gradually wakes up little by little.

Blaine's arm is heavy and solid over his chest, and Kurt loosens a hand from the sheets to run his fingers over soft skin and dark hair, feeling the faint tremble as Blaine sighs, gooseflesh erupting in the wake of Kurt's fingers. He's never really had the opportunity to _admire_ Blaine the way Blaine should be admired, his juxtaposed youthfulness and worldliness.

Beside him Blaine snuffles, shifting restlessly as he sighs and moves closer, the slide of his leg against Kurt's shocking and _amazing_. Kurt turns, the pillowcase rustling under his ear, and looks. Blaine in repose is almost more beautiful than Blaine awake and alert: Kurt can just see the shift of Blaine's mouth, the slight crease of his brow; his lashes are thick, dark where they fan over his cheekbones, and his lips are slightly parted, face completely slackened. Then, there's the back-forth of his eyes behind his lids as Blaine slowly opens them, bleary and sleepy, as he nuzzles into the pillow before finally allowing himself to wake. But as soon as he blinks and his gaze focuses, his lips stretch into a smile that's one part happy, two parts disbelieving.

His arm tightens around Kurt, and his voice is sleep-thickly husky when he says, "Good morning."

Kurt reaches up, brushes back a lock of curly hair, and says, "Good morning." Blaine loosens his arm, and Kurt rolls over, runs a hand down Blaine's bare shoulder where the duvet is pulled away. His skin is warm and soft, and Kurt flushes when he remembers grabbing onto it last night, digging in and holding on like he'd be swept away if he didn't. At the hollow of Blaine's throat, the shadowed little crevice, there's a faintly purple-red mark, and Kurt touches it, astonished, and asks, "Did I…did I do that?"

Blaine just smiles, nods, and reaches out to touch the soft, temptingly pale curve of Kurt's shoulder glowing in the morning light, and the skin is tender where one of Blaine's fingertips press; a little jolt runs through Kurt as he realizes why.

Blaine leans in, eyes searching, silently asking, and Kurt immediately complies, leaning forward, nudging their noses together before pressing his lips to Blaine's, slow and soft and closed. He rests his palm on the side of Blaine's face, and Blaine's hand drops to the curve of his hip under the blankets.

"God, I love you," Blaine murmurs, kissing Kurt's cheek, then the line of his jaw. Kurt's eyes flutter, and he tips his head back slightly as his heart begins to quicken. "You're so beautiful."

Kurt smiles, bites his lip and grabs Blaine's hand from his side, twines their fingers together and stares down at them. "I've never woken up next to anyone before."

"Mmm." Blaine sounds thoughtful as he sits up, the covers falling to his waist. "Do you have anywhere you need to be today?"

Kurt shakes his head, and Blaine beams, crinkling his eyes and deepening the lines at his mouth. "Awesome! I'll just hop in the shower real quick, then it's all yours, okay, sweetie?" Blaine kisses Kurt's nose, then pulls back the covers and stands up. Kurt feels his jaw drop as Blaine turns his back and lifts his arms over his head as he stretches, muscles rippling under his skin as he shakes out the night's kinks. Kurt's eyes slowly roam down, face getting hotter and hotter as he follows the dip of Blaine's back, the firm, bare curve of his ass, the strong, toned muscles of his thighs.

Blaine bends to grab his discarded clothes from the floor, and Kurt quickly looks away, coughing nervously. He knows, rationally, that he _should_ look, that it's more than okay, but Kurt feels like he's invading and, well—this is why he's never had a relationship before.

Blaine disappears into the bathroom, and as soon as the water sputters on Kurt hears a familiar buzzing coming from the floor. His eyes widen as he remembers that he hadn't told Rachel where he was going last night, and he scrambles to answer it, nearly falling to the floor as he gets tangled in the sheets. He finds his underwear next to his jeans and tugs them on, hurriedly swiping his thumb across his phone to answer it, breathing out, "Hello?" as he sits back on the bed. He slides his shirt on as an afterthought.

_"Kurt! Where are you? I was worried sick all night, and you never answered your phone—"_

"Rachel, shh," Kurt hisses, looking toward the closed door of the en suite bathroom, where the faint thrum of the shower can still be heard. "I'm not dead. I'm okay. I'm still at Blaine's."

_"Still at—Kurt, are you telling me…?"_

"Shrill, Rachel!" Kurt snaps, feeling his cheeks heat up.

_"But you…oh my _god_, Kurt, why didn't you tell me you went to Blaine's?"_

"Because I knew you'd act like this if I did," Kurt says sharply, but the heat is half-hearted at best. Rachel means well, and she does have the right to know if he's not going to be home, but Kurt's still mad at her for telling Finn, so he figures that, as punishments go, this was an easy one.

_"Be honest," _Rachel says suddenly._ "…Did you two have sex last night?"_

Kurt flushes scarlet, pays sudden attention to the thread patterns on the duvet. From the bathroom the water clicks off, and Kurt can hear faint rustling as Blaine steps out, wet and dripping and flushed—Kurt swallows, hard, and closes his eyes. "Um. Maybe?"

_"KURT!"_

"I'm hanging up now," Kurt says quickly, ending the call and tossing his phone on the bed as he sneaks out of Blaine's room and heads downstairs to the kitchen. The appliances gleam invitingly, and Kurt opens Blaine's fridge, nods in approval at the stock of fresh, organic, and whole-grain foods on the shelves. A cabinet by the stove reveals pans, and a drawer to the right has utensils. Kurt grabs a carton of eggs and a spatula, turning on the stove to warm it up before cracking a few eggs into the pan and watching them sizzle.

He's busy wondering what else he should make, if it's weird to take over your boyfriend's kitchen the first morning you sleep over, and doesn't hear Blaine come down the stairs; when a pair of arms wraps their way around his waist he gasps, starts, and relaxes only when Blaine's hot huff of laughter ghosts across his neck.

"I see you've made yourself at home," Blaine teases. Kurt's hand comes up to his abdomen to rest over Blaine's, and he lets Blaine slowly lift up his arm as he stirs the eggs. On his wrist is the cuff, and Blaine's fingers trace over it with the reverence one usually sees reserved for historic relics. "You're still wearing it," he adds, soft.

Kurt twists, smiles: he smiles at Blaine's loose, slightly-fluffy hair; his glasses; the awed, in-love look to his eyes and the laugh lines deep in his cheeks that Kurt wants to kiss, to touch, over and over and over. "Of course I'm still wearing it," he says; then, softer as he turns fully into Blaine's embrace, cupping Blaine's cheek with the hand with the cuff, "I love you."

Blaine kisses him, and his lips slide easy over Kurt's, slick and minty with toothpaste, and Kurt remembers how they'd slid easily over his skin last night, making him feel in ways he'd never felt before. Blaine's hands fall to his waist, heavy and binding, and Kurt loops his arms around Blaine's neck, presses close, closer.

"Maybe we should turn off the stove," Blaine whispers, pulling back. "I think the eggs are done."

"Right," Kurt breathes, dizzy and unfocused, and he fumbles to turn off the gas. All he can see, all he can _feel_, is Blaine. "Um. Plates. And forks. And…other stuff."

Blaine grins, carding a hand through Kurt's hair where Kurt knows it's wild and sticking up. "I like coffee," Blaine says, already heading up to the coffeemaker at the apex of the sleek granite counter. "What about you?"

"Um, coffee is good," Kurt replies, looking at the cabinets, and he feels a warm surge of affection when Blaine wordlessly opens up a cabinet next to him, where there are stacked plates, white and china and delicate. He grabs two, carefully, and gets two forks from the drawer.

It's so…domestic that Kurt can't really believe that it's actually happening. There's silence, but it's amicable, not awkward to tensed or stretched. The coffee sputters as it brews, filling the kitchen with its warm, earthy scent, and Blaine kisses the top of his head as he passes by the get the creamer from the fridge and a mug from the cabinet, setting one down on the counter for Kurt. "It'll still be a minute for the coffee. I hope you don't mind," Blaine says, and Kurt really doesn't.

Blaine's hair is still damp from the shower, loose and curly where it falls around his forehead, and he'd thrown on a loose long-sleeved shirt over comfortable-looking jeans. He looks utterly kissable, and Kurt says, without thinking as he holds up a plate, "How much do you want, B?"

Blaine, who has his reading glasses half-raised to his face as he holds his iPad with the other hand, looks up, and Kurt looks back, blinking in shock at the sudden nickname. He's never been one for them, but Blaine's always calling him 'honey' and 'sweetie' and 'darling,' and it's starting to rub off on him.

There's a knowing, teasing grin at the corner of Blaine's mouth, and he slips his reading glasses on, keeping them low on his nose, and Kurt swallows at the sight, at how _mature_ it makes Blaine look. "Just give me a few spoonfuls, _darling_, but you know I could've gotten it myself."

Kurt shakes his head, loading up Blaine's plate, then his own, and carrying them to the table. "It's the least I could do," he says as he sits down. "You let me stay over, and, well." He stops, reaches across, and Blaine's immediately setting his iPad down and taking Kurt's hand. He rubs his thumb over Kurt's knuckles, soothing back-forth, and Kurt watches the motion for a moment before saying, "You made my first time really, really special. It's the least I could do."

Blaine's smile is fond, sweet, and behind them the coffeemaker comes to a halt. "That's how everyone's first time should be," he says. "You should never regret anything."

Kurt shakes his head. "I don't. I could never."

Blaine gets up and comes back with two mugs filled with coffee. Kurt takes the creamer first, pouring it in and watching black swirl to brown, watches as the steam rises up, then evaporates. His hand feels empty without Blaine's in it.

"So was I…you know, good?" Kurt asks suddenly, throat tight with nervousness. It's a dumb question to ask, and Kurt knows that he shouldn't be worried, but he's insecure still, afraid that he's just going to be that passing fancy, that mid-life crisis moment.

Blaine looks up, fork lifted halfway to his mouth, and he furrows his brow, sets it and his iPad back down. He pushes his glasses up his nose, and Kurt tries not to swoon. "At what?"

Kurt flushes, shoves a forkful of eggs into his mouth to give him something to do; chew, swallow, and say, "…Sex."

Blaine's laugh is sudden and loud and booming where it echoes in the openness of his apartment. Kurt crosses his arms, pouts, and refuses to look until Blaine's reaching across the table, grabbing at him and saying, "Kurt. Kurt, look at me."

Kurt does, and Blaine's serious, wide-eyed with his brows knitted close. A stray lock of gray-black hair tumbles over his forehead, and Kurt aches to brush it away. "You were the best I've ever had. I promise," Blaine says sincerely.

A thrill runs up Kurt's spine, an odd sense of accomplishment, but he still doesn't allow himself to completely believe it. Blaine's probably just being polite, but he knows he can get better. That's what practice is for, right? Last night they had been practicing, and now Kurt's definitely…_more_ than ready to practice again. "You're lying. It's okay; I know I was a virgin—"

"No, no, no, Kurt." Blaine takes Kurt's hand, twines their fingers together, and leans forward. Kurt takes note of the freckles on Blaine's nose, his day-old stubble. "It was the best I've ever had because it was with someone that I truly love. I've never done that before."

"You had—" Kurt begins.

Blaine cuts him off before he can finish, shaking his head. "I've never had sex that's made me feel like that before. That's made me want _more_ like you have."

Kurt bites his lip to hide his smile as he looks down at his lap, the gleaming white table top, their hands. "You really…want more? Because of me?"

"I'm always going to want more of you. I think it's becoming a problem, truthfully," Blaine says lightly, smiling; Kurt's heat races, flips, and he bites back his squeal as he looks up at the ceiling, grinning stupidly.

Kurt's _boyfriend_ just told him that he wants more, will _always_ want more, and Kurt isn't sure he's ever been this happy, this unafraid of what the future will hold for him. He's comfortable to live in the moment, to love and be loved as much as he can. "I love you."

Blaine leans across the table, and Kurt meets him halfway, melts into a kiss that tastes of coffee and egg and a faint bite of minty toothpaste. Blaine's tongue is slick where it slides across Kurt's lips, and Kurt lets out a moan, grabs the back of Blaine's head as he switches angles and nips at Blaine's lower lip.

When they part Blaine's voice is breathy as he says, "You made me see the good in the world again, Kurt. When you've been around for as long as I have, you begin to give up. But you changed my mind. I'm…god; I'm really falling so hard for you."

And, suddenly, eating seems trivial, and Kurt's earlier wishes for a shower fall under that exact same category. He pulls back and looks at Blaine, calls to mind images from last night, sweaty and tangled and _filthy_. He leans forward again, and though the edge of the table digs into his abdomen he kisses Blaine deep, tongue slick where it slides between Blaine's lips, and between kisses, hungry and desperate and gravelly-voiced, he says, "I want you."

Adds, "Now, B, _please_."

Blaine, wide-eyed, astonished, pulls back, red lips and flushed cheeks, mussed hair from Kurt's insistently tugging fingers, and gasps out, "_Fuck_, Kurt, warn an old man next time."

Kurt just smirks, feeling bold despite the flaming blush he feels heating his cheeks, and doesn't try and suppress the shiver he feels go down his spine at Blaine's words. "We don't have anywhere to go today," Kurt says, pointedly emphasizing, and he watches Blaine break little by little.

He is still nervous, of _course_, but it's with Blaine, who made him feel so safe, so secure and perfect and loved last night, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't want more, too. They have a whole apartment, an entire day, and a semi-foreign body to explore.

It turns out Blaine's easily won, and his hair, freshly-washed and silky, feels amazing being tugged by Kurt's fingers.


	8. How Blaine Meets The Roommate

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "His Girl Friday" by The Academy Is...

This fic is age difference, so if that's not your cup of Earl Grey, don't read. This story is also cross-posted to my Tumblr (endofadream), so a good chunk of this fic is already written and will be updated as regularly as I can keep it. And, as always, thank you :)

* * *

Rachel is waiting for Kurt at the door when he arrives home late that evening, and Kurt knows before he's even stepped foot into the apartment that he's going to have to sit down and tell her _everything_—and he's not looking forward to divulging certain…aspects of his day. He could try to skim over them, gloss them, but this is Rachel, and he knows that she's going to poke and prod until, eventually, the whole story comes tumbling unbidden out of Kurt's mouth.

Even with food from Rachel's favorite vegan take-out place, Kurt is still in such a good mood that he doesn't really even need the peace offering, the distracting temptation so Rachel won't ask too many questions. He almost _wants_ Rachel to ask questions, because he wants someone to tell, wants to maybe even shout it from the rooftops that he's in love and is loved in return.

"Kurt!" The door slides open and Rachel is there, hair pulled back, clad in yoga pants and a loose dance sweater. She grins at him, grabs his arm and tugs him in, sliding the door shut with a clang behind him. She takes the food, makes a little noise of approval, and heads into the kitchen to start rummaging for plates. "It's good to see you finally home again," he adds, looking up from where she's reaching into the cabinet. Kurt almost doesn't like the scheming look on Rachel's face; he's been around her long enough to know what that look entails.

"Um, it's good to be home?" he says, cautiously, as he grabs one of the plates and takes out his container of mock Foo Young. He heads over to the fridge and grabs two bottles of water, handing one to Rachel as he makes his way back to his side of the table. "I…missed you?"

"I can't imagine that you had done much missing last night." _Now_ there's the wink, lascivious, and Kurt glares at her, lips thin and face heating up.

Rachel looks down at his wrist, then, finishes loading her food onto a plate, and says, off-handedly, "I see you're finally wearing that bracelet he got you."

Kurt's hand goes to his wrist automatically, self-consciously, and he sits down in a chair, tugging his food closer to him to begin loading it onto his plate. "Yeah, well, Blaine _did_ give it to me," he says, goes for nonchalant.

Rachel isn't buying any of it, and she points her fork at him. "I went online to see if I could find out anything about that bracelet."

Kurt looks at her. "Uh-huh."

"It was $750, Kurt."

Kurt's heart skips, stomach knotting, and getting a bite of his food down becomes difficult. He had known that it was expensive, of course, since it was from Tiffany's, but he never would have imagined that it would be _that_ expensive. Barring the scarf, which Kurt had never let himself dwell on in the first place because it's become symbolic by now, the mark of the hesitant beginning of their relationship, Blaine's never bought him anything that expensive. And as much as Kurt loves designer things, loves shiny trinkets and new, crisp-smelling clothes with the price tags still on, he's beginning to feel bad taking so much when he's given so little.

It's not that he feels like a trophy husband—or, well, boyfriend, because he _doesn't_, and he knows Blaine would never treat him like that. He's just Kurt Hummel, poor, struggling intern who can barely afford to clothe and feed himself and his roommate, much less buy something wonderful and over twenty dollars for his boyfriend.

And that's the problem: Kurt _wants_ to treat Blaine like Blaine treats him, wants to make _him_ feel special, too, make his eyes light up and his mouth broaden into that adorable crinkly grin of his. He wants Blaine to say, "It's beautiful, Kurt, I love it," and feel that sense of pride he can see in Blaine's eyes whenever he gives Kurt something new.

"I know that look." Rachel's voice cuts into his thoughts, and Kurt shakes his head, looks down at the fork held in slack fingers, at the untouched food on his plate. He sighs, closing his eyes, and Rachel adds, a touch more concerned now, "You okay?"

Kurt nods, a little more vigorously than necessary, and takes a bite of food that he doesn't really tastes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just…thinking about what I want to give Blaine."

"For what?"

"For…just because. Because he's my boyfriend and I…" Kurt takes a deep breath. He hasn't told Rachel this yet, and it looks like now is going to be when he does. "I love him."

Rachel nearly drops her fork down onto the table as she looks up in surprise. Her eyes are wide, and maybe Kurt should have told her sooner, but there hadn't been a right time yet. "You _what_?"

Kurt swallows, feels his cheeks burning again as he looks down at his plate. "I love him? And he loves me back. And last night we told each other." _After I screamed at him and accused him of cheating on me_.

The dumbfounded look on Rachel's face slowly morphs into, by what Kurt can tell, genuine happiness. She reaches across the table and takes Kurt's hand, squeezing once before pulling away. "I'm so happy for you, Kurt."

Kurt raises an eyebrow. Rachel Berry, happy for someone else? "I _am_," she insists, like she's caught on to his skepticism. "I like seeing you happy, and Blaine makes you happy."

It's oddly touching, and Kurt softly smiles, reaches across to take Rachel's hand, now, squeezes and pulls back. "Aw, thank you, Rach."

She smiles back, and says, without skipping a beat, "So how _was_ last night? Was Blaine everything you ever dreamed of?"

Kurt nearly chokes, can barely splutter out an indignant, embarrassed, _"Rachel!"_

She just looks at him innocently, still smiling. "Don't think you can get away with not telling me about it. I told you when I lost my virginity."

Kurt scrunches up his face. "Yes, in disgusting detail."

She swats his arm, pouts, and goes back to business. "I'm _serious_. I want to know if Blaine's the right man for you."

"I'm not sure how _that_ will help you decide if he's perfect for me, but." Kurt sighs, wonders why, of all people he could have chosen as his roommate, he chose nosy, sometimes well-meaning, loudmouthed Rachel. "It was amazing."

"Just amazing?"

Kurt sighs, self-suffering, and says what he knows Rachel wants to hear in a deadpan. "He absolutely rocked my world. No," he adds when he sees Rachel open her mouth, "I am not telling you how big his dick is. That's for me and him to know and for you to _never_ know."

Rachel pouts, and Kurt's eyebrow rises again. "God, do you want me to tell you every detail or something?"

"No, no." Rachel shakes her head. "I'm just glad everything is working out."

"How selfless of you," Kurt says dryly, but he's smiling.

"I try," Rachel says, winking, and they laugh. Kurt's honestly just glad she doesn't ask any more questions about Blaine, though he's almost certain that Rachel's endless curiosity is far from sated.

* * *

**Kurt Hummel** is in a relationship with **Blaine Anderson  
Rachel Berry**, **Santana Lopez**, and **5 others** like this.

**Rachel Berry:** FINALLY you post this!  
**Finn Hudson:** I still don't know how I feel about this…  
**Kurt Hummel:** Feel how you want, I still love him.  
**Finn Hudson:** ! What?!  
**Blaine Anderson:** I love you, too, darling :) **6 Likes  
Santana Lopez:** I take back every bad thing I've said about you, Hummel. Hot AND older? I've taught you well. **1 like  
Kurt Hummel:** Gee, thanks, Satan. **2 likes  
Blaine Anderson:** Am I missing something I should know about?  
**Kurt Hummel:** It's an extremely long story. I'll tell you tonight.  
**Santana Lopez:** WANKY! **3 likes**

* * *

They're at the kitchen table the next morning eating breakfast, still half-asleep despite their mostly-empty mugs of coffee on the table in front of them, when there's a loud knocking coming from the door.

"Not it," Kurt says automatically without looking up before Rachel can even swallow her spoonful of cereal, and she throws him a glare that's not as effective as it could be if she was more awake.

"I hate you," she says, but it's not angry, and Kurt smiles as she gets up from the table and walks to the door, tugging the sleeves of her sweater down to ward off the chill. He hears the door slide open, and before Rachel can even open her mouth a very familiar voice carries through the apartment.

"Oh, hello, you must be Rachel. Is Kurt home, by any chance?"

Kurt nearly knocks his chair over in his haste to get up, and he curses his undone, unwashed hair and un-moisturized face as he rushes as casually as possible over to the door, where Blaine is standing, well-dressed and presentable and heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

"Blaine, hi!" Kurt breathes out in a rush, wide-eyed. He tries to shoo Rachel away, but she doesn't catch the hint and continues to stand there, silent. "What brings you over here so early unannounced?" Belatedly he says, "Oh—come on in." He ducks around to slide the door shut, and he glares at Rachel behind Blaine's back until she finally leaves the room, darting into the partitioned section that's hers.

Blaine smiles at him once they're alone, and when he leans in for a kiss Kurt obliges, squeezing Blaine's arm as they part. "Good morning, honey."

Kurt runs a hand self-consciously through his hair and says, "Good morning."

Blaine reaches into his coat, grabs something small and folded and black, and Kurt takes it, uncomprehending, before he gets a flash of a familiar waistband. His cheeks immediately heat up. "Wait…why do you have my underwear?"

Blaine looks a lot less embarrassed than Kurt when he smiles. "You left them at my place."

"But I—"

Now Blaine's cheeks flush, and he bites his lip as he smiles, says, "I think you, uh, took mine by accident after we got out of the shower."

Foggy, steamed-window memories dredge back up in Kurt's mind, and he coughs, shifts, as he remembers the way Blaine had had him pushed against the glass of his spacious shower as he'd fucked into him for the second time that day. He's surprised that he even got dressed in the first place, if he wants to be honest. "Oh. Well, um, oops?" he says awkwardly.

Blaine just laughs, takes Kurt's hand and squeezes it briefly. "It's kind of hot when you think about it, you wearing my underwear."

Kurt still isn't used to someone talking like that, talking about _him_ like that. Blaine is still helping Kurt affirm any sort of appeal that he has, and each time Blaine says it, _you look hot_ or _guys really should be knocking down your door_, Kurt tingles with happiness. And now, after the other night, they have a new level to step up to, _you look so beautiful when you come_ and _you sound so hot when you're moaning my name_.

"I can give them back to you after I wash them," Kurt says, and he is still a little awkward, though he isn't sure why, he knows he _shouldn't_ be anymore.

Blaine shakes his head, smiles, and says, "Keep them. I have so many pairs right now that I'm not even sure if I wear half of them."

That tingling surges straight into hot electricity, and Kurt begins to think about wearing those, remembering that Blaine's worn them before, too, and he nods, smiles crookedly and says some strangled, high-pitched version of 'thanks.'

Then he remembers that they've both been standing here, unmoving the entire time, and he snaps back into himself, standing up a little taller. "Would you like to…to see the place? I have to take these to my bedroom, anyway." He gestures with the folded-up pair of underwear.

"Sure." Blaine takes Kurt's hand. "I'd love that."

"I have to warn you that it's nothing compared to your place, though," Kurt says as he leads Blaine to the section that doubles as his bedroom. He goes for the bureau, pulling open the top right drawer and sliding the underwear in next to his other pairs. He straightens up, notices Blaine looking around curiously. "So…yeah, this is my room."

Blaine touches framed pictures on the nightstand, scarves carefully hung up on one of the old knobs of his mirror bureau. He touches them gently, makes an approving noise. "It's very you."

"It's very plain."

Blaine shakes his head, smiles and looks at Kurt. "You make it work," he says. "I like it."

"It's nothing like your place."

"My place is big and lonely and empty. This place feels like it's a home, not a magazine spread."

Kurt swallows and walks toward Blaine. He places his hands on Blaine's hips, draws him close to study the lines of his face, the tired bags that are always under his eyes but that Kurt never notices. A patch of hair at his temple is turning grayer than the rest, and Kurt wonders how truly lonely Blaine has been, if he's just put on a face for Kurt and the rest of the world, or if he is actually unhappy underneath the money—and if he still is, even though they're dating.

But all Blaine does is kiss him, framing Kurt's face with his hands as they stand in the middle of Kurt's room. "I love you," he says when they break apart, because now seems like the perfect time, like they both need to hear it.

Blaine's face lights up when Kurt says it, and his hand slides around to the small of Kurt's back, tugs him close as he says, "I love you, too."

They hold each other in silence, pressed tight and close, and don't move until Kurt softly suggests showing him the rest of the place, to which Blaine immediately agrees, and he stays close to Kurt as he explains which flea market these wall ornaments were from, and which antique stores the chairs and furniture were from.

Rachel stays out of their hair for the most part, popping up to rinse her forgotten breakfast dishes in the sink as Kurt takes Blaine through there, and he isn't quick enough to pull Blaine away before Rachel questions him with dizzying rapidity and ferocity.

"You're not in it just for the sex, are you? Because while I know that Kurt is probably amazing in bed, I don't want to have to hurt you if you hurt him."

Blaine blinks, a little taken aback. "Uh, no? Not that Kurt isn't amazing in bed, because he is—but I love him. I'd love him even if we didn't have sex."

Kurt shoots Blaine a grateful glance, but Rachel just plows on, unnoticing and unhearing. "So you're really serious about him, then?"

Blaine doesn't hesitate, and this time his voice doesn't falter or stumble. "Yes. I've never felt like this about anyone else."

"What do you see in Kurt, then, besides a hot young intern?"

Kurt flushes, and Blaine laughs, reaching over to grab Kurt's hand even as he tries to inch his way toward the living room. "I see the most amazing, caring, wonderful man I've ever met, and I feel so privileged to have the honor of calling him my boyfriend."

Rachel looks satisfied, and she steps back, clasping her hands together and smiling. Kurt grabs the back of Blaine's head, pulls him in for a kiss, and Blaine lingers when Kurt tries to pull back, pushing in for more. "I'll just leave you guys alone, then," Rachel chirps. "Nice to finally me you, Blaine!"

"You, too, Rachel," Blaine says, and once she's gone and out of earshot Kurt turns apologetically to Blaine.

"I am _so_ sorry," he says, brows creasing in worry. "I didn't know she was going to go all twenty questions on you."

"She's really interesting, actually," Blaine says, looking out toward the living room. He leans against the stove, looks thoughtful for a moment, then adds, "You said she was going to NYADA, right?"

"Yes, why?"

"I know of a few model agencies that would absolutely love her look."

"No!" Kurt responds immediately, tugging at Blaine's arm to direct him toward the couch. "You cannot tell Rachel that. She's only just recently deflated her head enough to become bearable." Blaine gives him a look that clearly asks Kurt to go on, but he shakes his head. "Not now. I'll fill you in sometime when we're actually _alone_."

"Mmm, speaking of alone," Blaine says as they sit down. He scoots closer until their knees touch, leans in and half-lids his eyes. From the other end of the apartment they hear Rachel's phone go off, but they both ignore it. "Do you want to come by my place tonight? I think it's time that we, well…" He rubs Kurt's knee, walks his fingers up Kurt's thigh, and Kurt shivers as Blaine finishes, low and whispery dark, "Switched things up a bit."

Kurt's eyes open wide, and his lips part as he looks at Blaine, at the serious, eager look on his face, and says, heart pounding, "You mean—?"

But before he can answer Rachel's voice carries loudly across the open space.

"Kurt!"

"What?" Kurt looks up, annoyed, to see Rachel running out of her room with her phone in her hand. "Can't you see I'm busy?" he adds, gesturing to where he and Blaine are seated on the couch.

"Yes, but—" Rachel sighs, brings the phone to her ear before lowering it again. "It's Finn. He says he's been calling you but you won't answer."

"Well, clearly, no," Kurt snaps. "I'm sitting in the living room trying to have a conversation with my boyfriend. I'm not going to go into my room and get my phone."

"He says that Burt and Carole are planning to visit in a few weeks."

Kurt jumps up, then, grabs Rachel's phone and jams it to his ear. "Finn?"

_"Oh, hey, Kurt!"_ Finn's voice is cheerful, and Kurt wants to punch him. _"Did Rachel tell you?"_

"Yes," Kurt hisses, falling back to the couch and looking sideways at Blaine, who gives him a look in return that's equal parts confusion and nervousness. "What the hell, a few weeks? Dad just said the other day that he'd have to think about it first."

_"Well, he said that Mom really wanted to come out here, and he's got enough guys in the shop that he can be gone for a week or so without any problem."_

Kurt gets the feeling that his dad did this on purpose, and anger forms into a hard knot in the middle of his stomach. "Is Dad there?"

_"Oh, yeah, hold on—"_

_"Hey, Kurt."_

"Dad!" Kurt says, sharp. "A _few weeks_? That doesn't give me any time at all to prepare! And what if Blaine was busy? Then you would have come out here for nothing."

Burt makes a low mumbling noise that Kurt's almost positive is something less-than nice about Blaine, but he bites his tongue, sighs to calm himself down, and grips the phone tighter. Blaine's hand lands on his knee, warm and comforting, and Kurt looks over, smiles, and leans in to kiss Blaine brief and soft. _"Look, kid, I'm sorry about the short notice, but it was now or never."_

"It's really difficult not to say 'I hate you' right now," Kurt grouses.

Burt laughs. Kurt misses him, he does, and he's been dying to see his dad for months now, but he's been trying so hard to adjust to everything that throwing Blaine into the mix, the unconventional romance, he isn't sure what to do. There's a reason he hadn't told his dad right away, and it worries him to think of what Burt might do when he actually meets Blaine.

_"We'll be there for about a week, give or take,"_ Burt says over the staticky line. _"We booked a hotel room, and don't even complain, I know your place isn't set up for visitors just yet."_

Kurt sighs. "Okay. I'll have to ask Isabelle about reworking my schedule."

_"Is Blaine there with you?"_

Kurt looks over suspiciously. "…Yes?"

_"Tell him he'd better keep a close eye on his fun bits, and I'd better not hear anything about him usin' them while I'm around."_

"DAD!" Kurt says, a little more forceful than necessary. He closes his eyes in embarrassment, dropping against the back of the couch with a groan. "I'm not a little kid anymore, okay? I can take care of myself and make responsible, adult decisions, whether that is with my boyfriend in our private lives or out on my own in my life."

_"I just care about you, Kurt. I don't want you gettin' your heart broken."_

"I know, Dad, and I appreciate it. Just don't worry so much about me. I'm okay, and you know that if anything went wrong you'd be the first person I'd tell. I love you."

_"I love you, too, kid. Be safe, all right?"_

Kurt hangs up and hands the phone to Rachel, who's been standing the entire time watching. "What did your dad have to say?" she asks a little nervously.

Kurt shakes his head, sighs, and looks over at Blaine, whose hand is still on his knee, whose promise for tonight still hangs in the air. He grabs that hand, tangles their fingers together, and says, "Are you ready to meet my parents?"


	9. How Blaine Meets The Parents

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "His Girl Friday" by The Academy Is...

This fic is age difference, so if that's not your cup of Earl Grey, don't read. This story is also cross-posted to my Tumblr (endofadream), so a good chunk of this fic is already written and will be updated as regularly as I can keep it. And, as always, thank you :)

* * *

They stumble into Blaine's room like teenagers unable to keep their hands off each other, Kurt pressing Blaine hard against the door as he kisses up his neck, dragging his tongue and teeth as he goes. Blaine moans, grabs at Kurt's hair, and asks, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Kurt kisses Blaine properly, hard and deep, and walks them over toward the bed, straddling Blaine's hips when he pushes him down. "I'm so ready," Kurt breathes. He runs his hand down Blaine's chest, sits back and begins to unbutton his shirt. "I want to fuck you, Blaine, _god_, so badly."

Blaine shivers, grabs at Kurt's shoulders and pulls him down into another kiss. A hand slides down Kurt's back, grabs his ass, and he stutters forward, gasping. He kisses Blaine, slick-sliding lips and curious tongue, and Blaine wraps his legs around Kurt's waist, pulls him close, and whispers in his ear, "I like it rough."

"Fuck," Kurt whines, dropping his head to press in the curve of Blaine's neck. He isn't prepared for the hot thrill that surges like lightning through him. "You can't just _say_ things like that, Blaine."

"Hmm, like what?" Blaine teases, innocent as he pushes up, rubs against Kurt and makes him jolt, gasp and push back for more. "You don't want me telling you what turns me on, baby?"

"God, no, I _do_," Kurt says, and he kisses Blaine, wet and sloppy, grabbing onto the sheets with one hand, Blaine's thigh with the other. He feels the flex of strong muscle under his hand, and he wants Blaine out of his clothes now. He nips at Blaine's lower lip, sucks it into his mouth and draws back slightly before letting go with a soft slap, and Blaine inhales, sharp, and threads his fingers tight into Kurt's hair before kissing him again. One of those hands strays to Kurt's lower back, grabbing at his shirt and tugging it out of his pants as he bunches up the fabric in his fist, drags his knuckles and nails over the exposed skin of Kurt's back. Kurt's breath, his hips, stutter, and he moans into Blaine's mouth. "Just…"

Blaine shushes him, nods in understanding, and says, "Nervous?"

Kurt hesitates only for a moment before finally nodding, his brows creasing together in embarrassment. He feels empowered, being in control of Blaine this, but it's also terrifying. Kurt really has _no idea_ what he's doing, if he wants to be honest, which he is being, and painfully so. Blaine is hard beneath him, and he wants Kurt to _fuck_ him, and oh god, he's going to start freaking out any second now at the thought of being so in-control of someone else's pleasure—

"Hey, it's okay," Blaine says, soft, reassuring. He runs the back of his hand over Kurt's cheek, smiles lovingly up at him with bright eyes, slick red lips. "If you want, I can take control."

Kurt shakes his head. He's determined to make this as good for Blaine as Blaine had made it for him. "No, I'll—"

Blaine leans up on his elbows, and Kurt rears back in surprise until the firm pressure of Blaine's hand on the back of his head reels him back in. Blaine's tongue is warm and slippery where it slides across his lips, rubs against his own, and Blaine is husky, breathless, when he pulls back and whispers, "Let me ride you."

Kurt closes his eyes and moans, knee-jerk, and lets his body succumb to a shiver at the thought. He hears Blaine's chuckle and opens his eyes slowly, like a newborn coming into the world, and takes in the sight of Blaine under him, so willing, so trusting and _ready_, and, suddenly, the nervousness dissipates, replaced with unrelenting want. He _wants_ to do this, wants to make Blaine fall apart. He wants to prove to himself, to Blaine, that despite their age difference, despite his almost complete lack of experience, he _can_.

"Yes." Kurt kisses Blaine, then grabs at the hem of Blaine's shirt, pushing it impatiently up to feel warm skin underneath, tensed tight with muscle. Blaine sits up and Kurt sits back, resting on Blaine's thighs and watching as Blaine grabs onto the hem of his shirt and lifts it over his head, tossing it off to the side. Kurt lets him take care of his own, shuddering at first when Blaine's fingers brush his skin, then when the cooler air of the room rushes over his bare chest.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Blaine says, and it's rough, in awe. His eyes narrow slightly, dark and intent, and before Kurt can breath or even reply back Blaine's leaning forward, rubbing a hand over Kurt's chest as he licks broad over a nipple. Kurt arches, jerking, and moans, grabbing onto Blaine's hair as tongue turns into teeth, then the hot suction of lips.

"_Blaine_," Kurt gasps, pressing his chest forward as Blaine moves to the other nipple, palm sliding over his side now, down to the waistband of his jeans. There is no sound in the room other than Kurt's harsh breathing, the slick sound of Blaine's mouth as he licks and sucks over Kurt's nipple, and Kurt tips his head back, tugging at Blaine's hair until he finally pulls back, slowly opening his eyes.

"Let me suck you," Kurt says, and he doesn't even know he's saying it at first, wrapped up in the moment and let-loose, uncaring, focusing on that look on Blaine's face, how he wants to keep it there. There's a moment's pause, then Blaine nods, dropping back to his elbows and breathing out unevenly. Kurt carefully gets up and Blaine spreads his legs, giving Kurt room to settle between.

Kurt lets himself stare before he does anything, takes in the rise and fall of Blaine's abdomen, the dark line of hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans, the rise in the denim that Kurt knows will he hard and hot when he finally touches it. He lets himself realize, for those few silent seconds, that this is all _his_ to take. He reaches forward, and his hands give the finest of trembles as they close around the cool metal of the button. He slips it through the flap, and a hint of white teases him from between, stamped with a stretched black 'A.' The zipper goes slowly, each _snick_ of its teeth loud, final, echoing, until it can go no more, and the flaps of Blaine's jeans fall open, inviting.

Blaine lifts his hips before Kurt can even ask, and he's careful in tugging down his jeans, pushing them lower until they can go no further, and he sucks in a breath. Blaine's cock is straining desperately, thick and dressed left, against the thin white cotton of his Armani briefs.

"Jesus." Kurt exhales it, little more than rhythmic air with syllables, and he touches, cups his hand around the shape and fits his fingers the best he can, stroking once, twice, enough to make Blaine let out a breathy groan and drop his head back to the pillows.

"Kurt," Blaine says, and it's strained. He drapes an arm across his eyes before sitting up, like he's too impatient to keep still. "Please."

His fingers slip under the waistband, fit around the girth of Blaine's cock, and Kurt draws him out, feeling the pulse of life under his hand, the soft skin that yields so easily over the hardness underneath. Blaine is damp and slick, wonderfully hot against Kurt's cool, clammy skin, and he drops to his elbows, thumbing over the head once before dropping his mouth and sinking down.

He can feel the need for Blaine's body to arch up as he wraps his lips around the head and sucks, but Blaine grips hard onto the sheets instead, moans and digs his heels into the mattress. Kurt knows that Blaine's probably had better, and even as he sinks down and slides back up, sucking with an obscene noise that makes his cheeks heat up, he's checking himself, wondering how well he's doing.

Blaine's hand comes to the back of his head, fitting around his skull and holding him there. Kurt wraps a hand around the base of Blaine's cock before working him slowly with twisting strokes that are slickened by the glaze of his saliva. Each moan, each breathy plea of Kurt's name, sends hot pulses through Kurt's body, and as his jaw begins to get sore, as a fresh burst of pre-come paints bitter on his tongue, he drags his hips along the bed, desperate for _something_.

"Fuck, so good," Blaine gasps, and Kurt opens his eyes, looks up Blaine's body to see him arched taut, head tossed back and the underside of his jaw in stark relief. The faint gleam of sweat slicks his chest, and the muscles under his skin jump as Kurt sucks a little harder, a little longer, and bobs his head in earnest now, spurred on by the unexpected praise.

Blaine's moans eventually turn breathy, then high-pitched, and he finally grabs onto Kurt's hair, tugs him away, and Kurt goes, albeit reluctantly, with a wet noise and a strand of pre-come stringing to his lips. Blaine stares, eyes wide, before he says, slow like his mind is trying to catch up with everything, "Um. I was gonna come, and I kind of still want you to fuck me."

Kurt bats away the strand, nods, and says, "So…?"

Blaine is on him quickly, flipping their positions as he shimmies off his jeans and underwear, then works on Kurt's. Kurt still feels a flashing moment's fear when he's naked, but Blaine kisses him, grips his cock in a sure grip and strokes until Kurt's arching off the bed and grabbing onto Blaine's bicep, onto twitching muscle as it works and Blaine laughs against the soft skin of his neck. "I love when you're eager. Watching you fall apart for me is so amazing."

He leans over and opens his bedside drawer, pulling out the bottle of lube and a condom. He drops the condom to the bed, and when Kurt tries to reach for the lube he smiles, holds it out of reach and splays his palm broad over Kurt's chest to keep him down. "Nuh-uh. I'm gonna prepare myself for you."

Kurt swallows, widens his eyes, and feels his cock twitch as Blaine straddles his hips, his own cock swaying with the movement. There's the click of the bottle, and once Blaine has three fingers slick and glistening in the soft light of the bedside lamp he's arching slightly forward, moving his hand behind himself. Kurt doesn't look away, isn't even sure if he blinks, until he knows Blaine's slid he first finger in when his brows pinch, crease, and his mouth drops open slightly. There's the faintly sharp inhale of air, then a sighing relief as Blaine's eyes slip closed and his arm begins to flex.

Blaine looks younger like this, somehow, beautiful as he loses himself to his own pleasure, the lines smoothed to lax bliss as two go in, then three and Blaine is moaning, grunting as he drops his chin to his chest and presses back, arching his body. Kurt doesn't touch himself, too afraid that he'll come before he can get the condom opened, but he does stroke a hand down Blaine's thigh, over scratchy hair and smooth skin. Words build up on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't speak them, unsure if it's okay, to say the things he's thinking to Blaine, and figures that there will be plenty of other times to work them in and become more comfortable.

Blaine pushes onto his own fingers, and Kurt watches as his body goes tauter than before, and the cry that escapes his lips is louder. He keens as he twists his fingers, and his eyes are wild when he lifts his head to stare at Kurt. He slides his fingers free, grabs for the condom and fumbles in ripping it open. He's quick to slide it onto Kurt, and even quicker to slick him up with lube. He slows when he scoots forward, grabbing onto the headboard with one hand, the base of Kurt's cock with the other. Kurt feels the gradual give of Blaine's hole before Blaine sinks down, head tossed back as he drops inch by inch until his ass is flush to Kurt's hips.

And that's it. Kurt's inside him, Blaine trembling on his lap with a white-knuckled grip on the headboard, the other fallen to Kurt's chest to keep his balance.

Blaine looks like he's in another world, bracketing Kurt's torso with his thighs, eyes still closed and head still tipped back. It's another moment before he opens them, looks down and smiles. His tongue darts out, a pink flash, to wet his lips, and his voice is a little hoarser as he says, "Fuck, you're so _big_."

Kurt, sprawled out and vulnerable, trapped beneath the heavy weight of Blaine's body, covers his face with his hands and giggles, tugging Blaine down to kiss him. "You're ridiculous."

Blaine smirks, raises up on his knees and sinks back down, and Kurt groans at the tight, sliding squeeze, his hips arcing instinctively up into it. He lowers his hand from the headboard and drops it, too, to Kurt's chest, pressing in as he swivels his hips, grinding forward, then backward, and clenching rhythmically until Kurt's moaning helplessly, wanting to flip their positions and make Blaine _take_ but knowing that he can't.

"Just telling the truth," Blaine says as he lifts up and fucks back down, hard and fast so their skin slaps together. "_Oh_—fucks me so good, too, baby, _uh_, just like that."

Kurt's hands fall to Blaine's hips, and there he holds, pressing his heels into the mattress and bending his legs at the knees as Blaine works himself, hard and fast, over and over. His nails dig into Kurt's chest, cock bobbing between them, hot where it slides over Kurt's skin, and this is _nothing_ like last time; it's not better, but it's different enough, new sensations that Kurt has to get used to, and watching every second of Blaine's pleasure, the way his jaw drops when Kurt's cock brushes that spot inside him, when Kurt finally wraps a hand around his cock and jerks him in hard and fast imitations of Blaine's hips and Blaine keens, whimpering and whining and begging for more, harder, is breathtaking.

And when Blaine comes, hips working, grinding, body twisting and arching as he comes in hot splashes of white over Kurt's hand and arm and torso, Kurt wonders what he did right to deserve this. He comes when Blaine bends down and kisses him, breathless and sweaty and sloppy with too much tongue and saliva to really be called a kiss, and he whimpers through it into Blaine's mouth, hips jerking up minutely against the firm press of Blaine's ass.

"So that's what riding is like," Kurt says when they part and Blaine's slid off. He gets up on his elbow to slide off the condom, tying it off and carefully wrapping it up in the tissue offered by Blaine to clean up his arm and chest.

"Killer on the thighs, but do it enough and they'll look like mine," Blaine teases, winking, and Kurt smacks his arm with a laugh.

* * *

"So my dad and Carole come in at nine tomorrow morning," Kurt says, rushing around the apartment. Blaine sits on one of Kurt's antique kitchen chairs, watching amusedly as Kurt picks up dirty dishes and magazines, straightening and re-straightening everything under, when Blaine can't take any more, he stands up and tugs Kurt in for a fast, hard kiss. Kurt immediately relaxes into the familiarity, clutching at the back of Blaine's cardigan as he closes his eyes, tilts his head and lets their lips slide together. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Blaine soothes, rubbing at the back of Kurt's neck. His glasses are on today, and Kurt can't stop staring at the way they make Blaine look—he'd say older, but Blaine already is older, so he'll go with sexy and sophisticated. Kurt doesn't want to dig his fingers out of Blaine's ivory cashmere sweater, but he does so reluctantly, biting his lip and taking a few deep yoga breaths. "Just don't kill yourself, either. It's your dad. It's not like he's never seen you before."

"I know, but…" Kurt trails off, sighs in frustration, and looks around. "I'm just nervous, you know? He's going to be meeting you, which is terrifying enough in theory, and I want him to know that I'm doing okay, that New York isn't slowly killing me or anything."

"Everyone at loves you. You get along well with your roommate, and so far you haven't done anything too stupid—besides maybe taking a chance on me."

Kurt rolls his eyes, tugs Blaine back in for another kiss, breathing in deep Blaine's familiar spice-and-sweet. "I'll never regret taking a chance on you, Blaine. You know that."

"And I'll tease you for it relentlessly still. People might think _I'm_ the senile one because of my premature frown lines, but—"

"Kurt, where did you say your parents are staying at again?"

Rachel's voice floats from the back of the loft before Kurt can answer, and he gives Blaine an apologetic glance before turning to look at where Rachel is walking toward them. "One of the hotels a few blocks away? I can't remember which. Dad said they were getting a taxi from the airport."

"Roy can pick them up," Blaine says suddenly, and both Kurt and Rachel turn to look at him, eyebrows raised identically. "What?"

"My dad's not going to like that you're sending someone to pick him up," Kurt warns, because Burt won't, he can already tell. Having his son's boyfriend—who's already only just shy of ten years younger than Burt himself—have a personal driver to pick them up might ring as a bit too ostentatious for Burt, who's always prided himself on his humbleness and has firmly instilled it into Kurt his whole life.

"It'll be so much easier than having them get a taxi," Blaine says. "And cheaper."

"Kurt's right," Rachel says slowly, looking like the last thing she wants to do is crush Blaine's dreams. "I mean, it's a lovely idea and all, and I'm sure they'd appreciate the offer…"

"Nonsense." Blaine waves their worries away, pulling out his phone and quickly thumbing out a text. Kurt sighs, shaking his head as the light of the screen reflects onto the lenses in Blaine's glasses. "Roy will be there after their flight lands tomorrow."

"If you're trying to score points with my dad, that's not how you do it," Kurt warns, but pulls out his phone all the same and texts Burt the change in plans.

"Kurt, I have a driver so that I, or anyone affiliated with me, doesn't have to take a taxi everywhere. Your parents are included in that, okay?" Blaine looks at Kurt, and it's almost pleading. It makes Kurt's heart clench, twist, and he finds himself nodding, smiling softly. He knows what Blaine wants to say, what he isn't saying because Rachel is in the room, and Kurt accepts that, he does. He just hopes that his dad will be able to as well.

* * *

Kurt's been staring daggers for the last ten minutes at the clock mounted on the kitchen wall. He's already on his third cup of coffee, this one by now gone cold where it's clutched in his hands, and he doesn't even bat an eye as Rachel takes a seat next to him.

"I don't think I've been this nervous since my first date with Blaine," he confesses, turning to look at her.

Rachel rests her hand gently on his and gives him a sympathetic look. "It'll be fine."

"It's nearly eleven and they still aren't here."

"Maybe their flight was delayed."

"Or maybe they got so pissed at Blaine having his driver pick them up that they took a cab themselves and got lost." Kurt scrubs his hand over his face. "Why did I let Blaine do this?"

"Because you love him and he cares very deeply about not getting killed by your dad," Rachel replies simply, and there's a teasing hint of a smile at the corners of her lips as she says it, something contagious enough that when Kurt side-eyes her he feels his own lips twitching skywards.

"He's going to kill him doubly now," he says, standing up and dumping out the cold coffee in the sink. "I already know what he's going to say: pretentious and unnecessary."

There's a knock at the door, and Rachel calls out _come in_ as Kurt's stomach knots uncomfortably. There's an equal mixture of excitement at seeing his dad and Carole and dread that tonight's dinner isn't going to go over well at all now because of the car fiasco.

The door creaks and groans as it slides open, and just seeing his dad there, Carole at his side and their hands full of luggage, makes the knot loosen itself a bit, and he says, happily, "Dad! Carole!" before rushing over towards them.

Burt still smells like always, the same cologne Elizabeth used to buy him when she was alive and the faint tang of motor oil, today mixed with the stuffy scent of airplane. Carole hugs him tightly, sweet-smelling as always, and when they pull back there are the faint tears of pride in her eyes as she takes in the loft, Kurt's clothes, half of which have been presented to him by Blaine at some point, a detail he's definitely not going to mention at all.

"Was the flight okay?" Kurt asks anxiously.

"The flight was fine," Burt says as he sets his luggage down. He looks back toward the door, and Kurt watches his forehead crease under the brim of his cap. "The driver out there said he'd wait to take us back to the hotel in an hour when we can check in."

Kurt tries to gauge Burt's reaction, but there is none and he says, carefully, "So I see you met Roy."

"Oh, he's lovely," Carole chirps, and Kurt just barely resists throwing his arms around her in relief. He's known this whole time that Carole is more easily won over by charm, and he's never been more thankful for it than he has been in this moment.

"You didn't tell me that Blaine has a driver," Burt says, and Carole nudges him with her elbow. Rachel slinks out of the room to resurface later when they're getting ready to leave.

"I didn't think it was necessary. I swear I didn't know he was going to ask Roy to pick you guys up. I told him not to."

Burt doesn't answer right away, looking around silently instead. He sounds reluctant when he says, "It did save us some money."

Then adds, quick like he'd noticed how soft he was getting, "But it's still pretentious and unnecessary."

From across the apartment he can hear Rachel laugh, and he fights back his own smile as he stares at his shoes, then at his father, and feels happy for reasons he can't even begin to voice. He turns to Carole. "While we wait, do you want me to show you around, Carole? I have a few interior design ideas I'd love to run by you first."

* * *

Blaine shows up an hour and a half before their dinner reservation. Kurt feels like he's slowly suffocating as he finishes tying his tie, and it doesn't help that Blaine has on a suit, well-tailored and darkest blue and _god_, Kurt wants that suit to be lying on the floor next to his bed right now, not still on Blaine's body as he meets Kurt's parents for the first time.

"It'll go great," Rachel says as she greets Blaine with a hug. She gives Blaine that smitten-schoolgirl smile and adds, "Blaine's a charming guy."

"Blaine's a gay guy," Kurt says. "And taken—by _me_—so stop trying to flirt."

"Oh, Kurt, loosen up."

"Excuse me." Kurt blinks coolly at her, feeling anger begin to warm and rise. It isn't much, and he isn't really mad at her, but he's stressing and on-edge and maybe he shouldn't be this nervous, but family is all Kurt pretty much has, and having his not like his boyfriend would be devastating. "When was the last time _you_ brought your forty-year-old boyfriend to meet your dads?"

Rachel backs off, disappearing from the room as Blaine tugs Kurt close, smiles against his cheek where he kisses it. He laughs when Kurt huffs. "It's not funny. I really want my dad to like you."

"I know, I know." Blaine kisses him, then checks the time with the Rolex Kurt didn't know he owned. "We need to get going, honey, if we're gonna make our reservation."

Kurt's surprised to see that Roy isn't driving a Town Car tonight, and says, of the Range Rover, "Well, this is new."

Blaine opens the back door like always, letting Kurt in before climbing in on his side and saying, "The Town Car isn't equipped for so many people. We're just borrowing this for the night."

Kurt runs his hands over the soft brown leather, the installed mini-fridge across the aisle. "My dad's really gonna hate this."

When they pick up Burt and Carole from the hotel, Burt doesn't say anything as he climbs in across from Kurt and Blaine, but Carole _ooh_s over the fridge and the seats, and immediately she's reaching across for Blaine's hand, which he gives to her in surprise. "It's so nice to meet you, Blaine. I'm Carole."

Burt is a bit more slow and reluctant, and he purses his lips as Blaine shakes his hand, firm and businesslike. "Sir," Blaine says, and Kurt shivers at the authoritative tone in Blaine's voice. It makes it deep and commanding and Kurt finds himself wanting to hear it more.

"Burt," Burt finally introduces, gruff and short, and as they pull away he eyes Blaine up slowly, calculating. He looks around. "This is…different than what we had yesterday."

"The other car wasn't big enough for all of us," Blaine says, and immediately he winces, as well as Kurt. Luckily Burt doesn't comment, and instead the drive to the restaurant is spent with Carole asking Blaine questions about his work, and once Burt finds out how hard Blaine had worked to get where he is today he seems to loosen up and relax, slipping more easily into the conversations.

Just before they get there, Burt turns to Blaine and says, "I want to ask you some questions."

Blaine stiffens, but his face remains as calm and relaxed as ever. "Fire away," he says, goes for easy and it comes off as mostly that, and also a little bit strained.

"When were you born?"

Blaine's eyes widen, and he glances over at Kurt for a moment before answering, levelly, "'73."

"Where did you go to school?"

"Dalton Academy for Boys in Westerville, Ohio. Graduated with top honors. I was even in their glee club."

Kurt perks up. This is new. He wonders why Blaine hasn't told him, but he figures he'll ask that later, when it's just them. Burt ends the questions only when Roy pulls up to the curb and Blaine says, relieved, that they're here.

Their booth is in the back, lit with the soft ambience of a single votive candle. Kurt presses close to Blaine, Burt presses close to Carole, and Kurt doesn't miss their jaws dropping in surprise at the menu and the tiny black numbers next to each item.

"This is…a little expensive, honey," Carole says to Kurt, but means to Blaine.

"Yeah." Kurt looks over suspiciously, sees that Blaine is biting his lower lip and looking at the menu. "This is a little expensive, honey."

"I figured…I could pay for everyone's meals," Blaine says sheepishly, and he furrows his brows as he looks up, seeks acceptance.

"No," Burt says immediately, and Kurt hisses "_Dad_" as he does.

"That's very generous of you, Blaine," Carole says, "but—"

"We can pay," Burt finishes.

Blaine looks crestfallen, and Kurt takes his hand where it rests on the table, threading their fingers together and pressing a quick kiss to Blaine's jaw in a silent _I'm sorry_. "I told you my dad was a hard sell," he whispers.

Blaine just shrugs, sighs and smiles, and by the time drinks are ordered and cocktails are served out, the mood lifts slightly. Kurt catches his dad glancing every now and then at his and Blaine's entwined hands on the table, and he feels the lingering heat of his gaze when he and Blaine turn to each other to whisper something or laugh about a joke.

"How are things going at home?" Kurt asks, swirling his straw in his iced tea idly.

Burt takes a sip of his beer—he and Blaine had gotten the same kind, which makes Kurt want to laugh, for some reason—and smiles as he says, "Great. And Finn is taking over the glee club pretty well, from what I've heard."

"Your stepbrother teaches glee club?" Blaine says. "I didn't know that."

"He's great at it," Burt says before Kurt can answer, and there's a proud set to his chin. "From what I've heard, at least. He's not around much anymore, always too busy. Except when he finds time to sit down and watch the Buckeyes with me."

"I love the Buckeyes!" Blaine's face immediately lights up, and he works his and from Kurt's as he leans forward onto the table. Kurt meets Carole's eyes and rolls his, shaking his head as she laughs and shakes hers, too.

"Men and their sports," she says fondly.

Blaine and Burt talk about football and basketball and don't spare them a second glance until the food comes and they begin to eat. Blaine nudges Kurt with his shoulder, leans over and kisses Kurt softly, short, on the lips, and Kurt smiles into it, rubbing his hand over Blaine's thigh before picking up his fork. He startles for only a second when the warm weight of Blaine's hand finds his thigh a moment later.

The conversation is easier once they begin eating, and Kurt looks gratefully from his father to Blaine as Burt seems to warm up more and more to Blaine either each new topic they broach. They'd experienced similar things growing up, and had almost the same opinions about past presidents, and it makes Kurt feel incredibly young, hearing this. He'll never have that with Blaine, and while he knows that it's not really something to be bothered by, he still can't help it.

They skip dessert, Kurt saying that they can have coffee back at the apartment—he'd gone out and bought some of the good stuff for once, and he'd made carrot cake. The bill comes and Burt and Blaine fight over it for a moment before Blaine ultimately wins, much to a sullen-looking Burt's chagrin.

Kurt feels a little helpless as he watches Blaine pull out his black AmEx and slip it into the small plastic sleeve, and though he tries to push it to the back of his mind as they leave and get back into the Range Rover, he can't quite seem to.

* * *

When they get back to the apartment (Rachel had left a note saying she'd be at Brody's, and Kurt scrunches up his nose in distaste—when will she ever learn that he's no good?) Kurt disappears into the kitchen to cut the cake and begin brewing the coffee. Carole appears a few minutes later, asking Kurt where the mugs are and pulling them out when he tells her.

"They seem to be getting along," she says, grabbing plates from above the sink and placing pieces of cake on them. Burt and Blaine's voices float from across the room, and Kurt's never been gladder that Blaine is a charming and diligent person.

"I was afraid they wouldn't, if you want to be honest," Kurt says, placing the cake back in the fridge. The apartment's beginning to smell like coffee, earthy and homey, and he inhales deeply as he grabs the creamer before closing the fridge door. "You know, with Blaine being so much older and all."

"I figured your father would have to come around. He knew how happy Blaine made you, but he was just too stubborn to admit that seeing him could be a good thing for you."

Kurt trolls his eyes and smiles. "Sounds like Dad all right."

Carole leaves to go to the bathroom, and Kurt grabs two plates with a slice of cake on each, and he's just about to head into the living room when the sound of his name from Blaine's mouth stops him, and he ducks with his back against the stove, the plates clutched close to his chest.

"I'm sorry if I might've overstepped a few boundaries by having my driver come and pick you up and by paying for dinner tonight. Kurt told me not to, but I just…you guys mean a lot to him, and he means a lot to me."

"Look, Blaine, I'm real happy that you've done all this for us, and I appreciate it, but…" Burt's voice trails off, and Kurt holds his breath.

Blaine lets out a sigh, and Kurt can imagine him rubbing a hand over his hair. "It's the age thing, isn't it?"

"Don't get me wrong," Burt says quickly, "I don't think I've ever seen Kurt this happy, and it's nice to know that he's got someone to keep him that way, but it's just kinda uncomfortable seein' you two so…intimate."

"Sir, I know you may not approve, and I hope you do someday soon, but I love Kurt, and I would do anything for him. Age doesn't matter to us."

Kurt leans against the wall, clutching the plates harder. He knows that he and Blaine love each other, but hearing it from Blaine, that passion when he thinks Kurt isn't listening, makes his heart race, his stomach to erupt suddenly in thousands of rapidly-beating butterflies.

"Now where did I ever say that I didn't approve?" Burt says, and Kurt's breath catches again. Surely his father isn't giving in this easily? Even when Kurt had told him that he loved Blaine Burt had been completely unwavering and only slightly begrudging. This sounds like he's actually starting to _like_ Blaine. "And…call me Burt, Blaine. You aren't really that much younger than me and having reminders of how old I am really sucks."

Blaine laughs, and Kurt chooses that moment to appear with the cake, declaring, "Coffee is almost ready, guys, if you want some." He lets Blaine pull him down into a kiss, giggling when their hands tangle together and he hears Burt cough pointedly from the chair.

* * *

It's after Burt and Carole have left for the night with promises to call them tomorrow and plan something out that Kurt feels the odd sense of latent anger as he remembers the blasé way Blaine had paid for their meal. He's used to it by now, of course, but sometimes he just wants to be able to reciprocate, and tonight was another reminder that he can't. It stings, and it may be fatigue, the stress finally wearing off and the tiredness setting in, but when Blaine leans in for a kiss goodnight before he heads home, too, Kurt pulls away.

Blaine looks hurt, and he's tentative in asking, "What's wrong?"

"Why do you have to keep doing that?" Kurt asks, sharp, and it comes out a little watery as he feels, to his horror, tears prick at his eyes. He turns quickly away, picking up the dirty plates and coffee mugs. He hears Blaine's footsteps behind him, but he doesn't look up until they're all gathered in his arms.

"Doing what?" Blaine looks genuinely confused, brows knitted together as he looks Kurt in the eyes, silently asking him for an answer, why he's acting this way so suddenly. Kurt wishes he had a better reasoning besides something that happened hours ago and that everyone had pretty much forgotten about.

Kurt heads into the kitchen, and still Blaine follows. He places the plates in the sink, and Blaine is there, looking unsure, and Kurt finally loses it, all the built-up frustration at everyone doubting their relationship's authenticity, that Blaine loves him just as much as he loves Blaine.

"Buying everything! Like, I get it, okay? You're rich and successful and paying for things all the time doesn't really affect your bank accounts any. But when I don't even get an opportunity to pay for my boyfriend when we go out…" He lets his voice trail off as it falls to a broken whimper, wiping his hand across his eyes to brush away the wet sting of tears. "And tonight, I…god, I felt so helpless in front of my parents because here's their poor son who has to use his sugar daddy to pay for his food!"

Kurt doesn't mean for it to come out like that, and he watches Blaine recoil, then watches the look on his face go from hurt to angry to hurt again, all in the flash of a second. "Do you think that's all I am to you, Kurt?" he asks, and the quietness of his voice frustrates Kurt more than it would if Blaine were yelling and becoming slightly hysterical, too. "Do you think I buy you stuff just because I'm your sugar daddy? Because I don't think that our relationship is anything like that."

Kurt sniffs but doesn't say anything. He looks down at the worn floorboards before the shine of Blaine's black loafers comes into view and there's a familiar hand under his chin tilting his head up. "I want to spoil you because someone as special as you deserves to be spoiled. You deserve to have the world at your feet and your heart's desire whenever and however you want it."

"I don't want you to spoil me." Kurt pulls away, crosses his arms over his chest and bites hard onto his lip. "I want you to love me."

"I do love you," Blaine says sincerely, ad he's back again, hand under Kurt's chin and the lines in his face set deeper as he tries to get Kurt to look at him. "I'm just…showing you how much I love you. You're my prince, baby, and I want to give you the world."

"Why can't you give me your heart instead?" Kurt asks quietly. He feels a tear slip down his cheek, and Blaine thumbs it away.

He leans in, and Kurt holds his breath, lifts his eyes and stares deep into Blaine's.

"I already gave you my heart the moment I saw you. This bracelet"—he reaches for Kurt's hand and tugs up his sleeve, where the cuff rests against his wrist—"is a reminder of how much of my heart you own."

Kurt takes Blaine's hand, sniffs again and asks, "And how much do I own?"

"All of it." Blaine kisses him, pulls him close until it feels like they could both disappear into one another. It's closer than Kurt's ever felt to anyone, and this is _more _than he's ever felt, so overwhelmed and alive because of it. "I love you, Kurt. I'm _in love_ with you."

"I love you too," Kurt says, blinking, and throws his arms around Blaine's neck. "So much, Blaine, I—"

And Kurt kisses Blaine again, desperate to convey and prove how he feels, because sometimes there are just no words.


	10. How Their First Vacation Together Goes

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "His Girl Friday" by The Academy Is...

This fic is age difference, so if that's not your cup of Earl Grey, don't read. This story is also cross-posted to my Tumblr (endofadream), and we've almost caught up with how much of it I've already written and posted there. I'm hoping to begin writing on this again soon, _hopefully_ by the middle of this week at the earliest, but we'll have to see. As always, thank you so much for your kind words and support, and I hope you enjoy! :)

* * *

**GQ:** Not only have you skyrocketed to enviable fame in such a short amount of time, but you've also signed some of the most sought-after models in the circuit yet.

**BA:** Yes.

**GQ:** Blaine Anderson, the man who can do anything.

**BA:** Oh, I wouldn't say that. I still can't bake worth a damn.

**GQ: **Well, from what I hear, you certainly know how to woo properly. Rumors have been going around that you've been seeing someone.

**BA:** I can tell you right now that they aren't rumors. _[Laughs]_ I am seeing someone. Someone very special.

**GQ:** Care to elaborate?

**BA:** I won't say much, but I will tell you that we're very much in love, and I'm so happy that I've found him.

**GQ:** So it is also true that he's a great deal younger than you?

**BA:** Age is just another number. When you see someone and your day instantly brightens, or you hear their voice and wonder how you've gone all this time in your life without it, that's what matters. Not how old or how young they are. Kurt makes me happier than I've ever been. He is my home and my light and everything else I've been missing in my life, and I wouldn't trade that for the world.

* * *

"Do you remember how last week we were talking about our dream vacations?"

Kurt takes the mocha Blaine offers him, their fingers brushing. A tiny jolt of electricity surges through him and Kurt shivers pleasantly, taking a sip. The thick chocolate taste is heavy on his tongue, and the warmth is pleasant as it burns down his throat. Blaine takes a seat across from him, chair legs scraping across the floor as he pulls his chair back. His hands are wrapped around his own cardboard cup.

After Blaine's GQ interview where he'd finally admitted to seeing someone, they've been going out more and more. They had before in the past, but now there is no pretense, no front to put up for the public eye. They can hold hands and kiss in more than just secluded Central Park locations. Kurt loves Blaine and Blaine loves Kurt. It's simple, real, _theirs_, and no one can ever ruin what they have.

"Yes," he says in response, putting his coffee down and looking at Blaine suspiciously. Blaine's lower lip is drawn into his mouth and he's got that look, the one Kurt's seen countless times before. "Why?" he asks, cautionary and hesitant. He'd mentioned always wanting to go beachfront, while Blaine had talked about exploring the English countryside more, but he hadn't taken much stock by the conversation—it isn't unusual, not by a long shot, for Blaine to ask questions like that, and Kurt knows that he's probably storing them away somewhere to surprise him with later.

Blaine waits a moment, taking a sip of his coffee, before he reaches for his wallet. Kurt watches him, breath held, body tense in anticipation. He isn't sure what Blaine's going to pull out; Blaine can be as unpredictable as they come. It could, honestly, be anything.

What Blaine does pull out after a moment is a lightly-creased brochure that he hands across the table to Kurt. Kurt leans forward, takes it, and stares, uncomprehending, at the clear blue water, the brilliantly blue sky, the golden sand and bright green palm trees. "Why did you give me a brochure for Hawaii?"

Blaine's smile grows wider, and he holds out his hands as his eyes crinkle up. "Surprise!"

Kurt blinks. It still isn't dawning on him that in March in New York City he's holding this brochure for this warm, exotic location. He looks down, then up, then down again, until, finally, it does. He gasps, clapping a hand over his mouth. The brochure falls to the table, and Blaine's smile grows, if possible, wider and fonder.

"Oh my god, Blaine," Kurt breathes. "You didn't."

"We need a weekend to get away. Just us," Blaine says. He takes Kurt's hand, squeezes. "One weekend in Hawaii in the best resort there is. It's right on the oceanfront, and the entire suite gives you a view of it. You're gonna love it. And before you say anything, I called Isabelle and you can go. That woman owes me so many favors, not to mention I'm the one who gets her most of the models for the shoots."

Kurt opens his mouth, speechless, and almost argues. He can feel it on the tip of his tongue, insistent—_this is way too much, you didn't have to, I'm fine _here—but he pushes it back, sighs and smiles warmly at Blaine. "You really know how to take care of me, don't you?"

"I like to think of it as my other job."

"Well, I do hear that you're the best at what you do," Kurt teases. He plays with Blaine's fingers, looks down suddenly shy. "Thank you."

"Nope, no need to thank me," Blaine says. "We both need a break from the city grind, and going to Hawaii with the love of my life is going to be so much better than when I went alone all of those times before."

"Am I really?"

"What, the love of my life?" Kurt nods, and Blaine shakes his head, like he can't believe that Kurt had even thought that it was a question, and leans forward, pulling Kurt in for a short, sweet kiss that tastes of coffee and chocolate. "Of course you are. And if you're still unsure I guess I'll just have to spend all of next weekend reminding you how very special you are to me."

"Mmm." Kurt stands up, Blaine following suit, and drains the last of his coffee before tossing the cup into the trashcan. "_All_ weekend?"

"The entire weekend," Blaine promises, stepping forward and taking Kurt's hand to lead them out of the coffee shop. Once the door closes and the chilly winter air wraps around their bodies Blaine crowds close to Kurt, kissing him soundly. "You, me, the sun and sand, skinny dipping at night in the ocean." His voice drops when he pulls away, twining its way seductively around Kurt's head. "There are so many things that we can do, baby."

Kurt inhales sharply, squeezes Blaine's biceps through his heavy wool coat. "Then I guess I need to start packing."

* * *

Rachel takes the news exactly as Kurt had imagined it: with a lot of loud noises.

"Hawaii!" she screeches, grabbing onto Kurt's arms. He winces at the dig of her nails but says nothing. "Oh, I'm so happy for you! Jealous, but also really, really happy! Oh, Kurt." She hugs him tightly and he awkwardly pats her on the back, staring over her shoulder until she finally lets him go.

"Sorry that it's such short notice," Kurt apologizes. "I would have liked more of a heads-up myself, but that's Blaine for you."

"Just be thankful he's taking you!" Rachel looks out of one of their gloomy windows at the gray sky. "I wish I could see some sun for more than two hours at a time."

"You know I'd take you if I could." It's a complete lie: Kurt doesn't want Rachel anywhere near what's his first _actual_ vacation, much less his first vacation with his boyfriend.

Rachel turns to look at him and scrunches up her nose. "And listen to you two have sex all night? I think I'll endure lonely New York by myself."

Kurt turns bright red as he splutters, "No—what—we don't—I mean—"

"What, are you going to say that you don't have sex often?" Rachel purses her lips and looks Kurt up and down so thoroughly that he begins to feel violated. "I don't believe it for a second. You've been spending an awful lot of nights at his place."

"Because it's better than staying at this dump," Kurt snaps. "He has a really nice bed."

Rachel raises an eyebrow, and it's eerie how similar that look is to the one Kurt's perfected over the years. They've been spending way too much time together, apparently. "And that's it?"

"I like sleeping next to him, okay? It's comforting. I sleep better there than I do here."

"Aww, Kurt." Rachel holds out her arms. "Do you want me to cuddle with you at night? Because I will."

"Ew, no!" Kurt says it, but he's laughing as he does, fending off Rachel's flailing arms as she tries to wrap him up in a bear hug. He runs away, darting around the couch and calls over his shoulder, "If you stop asking questions I'll bring you back something nice!"

He goes into his bedroom, waiting for the inevitability of Rachel following him, and when she doesn't he gives a sigh of relief. He unbuttons the coat he hadn't had a chance to take off yet and hangs it up. From his nightstand he grabs a pen and a pad of paper, sitting down on his bed to begin planning what outfits he's going to want to take. He's only got…he looks down at his phone. Five days to go.

* * *

Five days, two flights with Blaine withholding information, a lot of reading and a lot of handholding later, Kurt finds himself in what feels like an entirely different world.

Kona International is bright and bustling and so unlike New York in its busyness that it takes Kurt a wide-eyed moment to adjust. The air is comfortingly warm and smells sweet, and when he and Blaine step outside to search for the car to take them to their hotel, the cloudless blue skies and bright, golden sun feels like the first time Kurt's ever seen or felt it.

They'd both dressed casual, Blaine in a cream-colored Ralph Lauren polo and jeans, Kurt also in jeans but with a thin black sweater with the sleeves pushed up. When Blaine reaches under the seat and pulls out two colorful leis, one for him and one for Kurt, Kurt laughs, ducks his head to let Blaine slip it on, and touches one of the fake flowers gently. "I can't believe you."

"I seem to get that a lot," Blaine quips, nudging Kurt gently with his shoulder. "I think you need to start believing, because you're stuck with me whether you like it or not."

"Oh, I think I like it." Kurt looks towards the front and reminds himself that this isn't Roy, that maybe he and Blaine should be more careful, but his train of thought is abruptly ended when Blaine grabs his collar and tugs him in for a deep, languid kiss, the slick sounds of it echoing in the otherwise-silent car.

"I think we really need to learn to control ourselves," Kurt breathes, casting a glance at the driver.

"Who could control themselves around you?" Blaine's eyes are dark, hungry, and he looks at Kurt like he's the best thing he's ever seen. His hand lands high up on Kurt's thigh, and Kurt sucks in a breath, looks down at it. "We have three whole days of just us. Three days to learn some things about each other, and three days where no one will disturb us unless we ask them to."

Kurt swallows hard, cups Blaine's cheek and says, "That sounds romantic."

Blaine's hand covers his own as he smiles. "Very."

"Will we get to swim in the ocean?"

"If you want."

"Use room service?"

"If you want."

Kurt scoots closer, feels and hears the rustle of the leis around their necks. His lips are centimeters from Blaine's, the slick, sensitive skin brushing when he whispers, "Will you take me as soon as we get into our room?"

Blaine shivers, letting out a soft moan, and his eyes slide shut as he says, "God, _yes_."

* * *

That, however, is completely forgotten the moment they've dragged all of their luggage to the second floor of the Hilton Waikoloa's Lagoon Tower. Kurt opens the door with their electronic key, and he isn't sure which hits the floor harder faster: his jaw, or his heavy carryon.

It isn't a room; it's a _suite_, and the first thing Kurt sees when he opens the door is the staircase leading up to the next level. The floors gleam with high polish, even more than Blaine's at his penthouse, and Kurt doesn't even feel like he's staying in a hotel.

Blaine shuts the door, picking up both of their bags and heading towards the stairs. He looks back at Kurt when he reaches the bottom step, raising an eyebrow in amusement as he says, "The bedroom's upstairs. Are you coming?"

The bedroom offers a view of the bright blue of the ocean and sky and the emerald of the grass. Blaine sets their luggage down by the flat screen TV, taking his lei off next and setting it onto the dresser. He looks unsure for a moment, that way he always gets before he presents Kurt with something new, and it's so endearing by now, the fact that Blaine, who's twenty years Kurt's senior, is the one who gets anxious most of the time. "So, uh, what do you think?"

Kurt doesn't even feel the need to hesitate when he says, "It's _perfect_, oh my god. I've never felt so…important before." He giggles, biting the inside of his cheek, and Blaine smiles, running a hand over his hair and stretching.

"What do you want to do?" Blaine looks around, like the more-than-likely uber expensive suite is boring him. "I was thinking we could just order room service tonight and go out to eat tomorrow night. Is that okay with you?"

"It sounds perfect." Kurt steps forward and pulls Blaine into a hug, then a kiss. "Thank you again," he says, feeling the strong ripple of Blaine's muscles under his hands.

"Anything for you," Blaine replies, and his voice is soft, intimate, and Kurt wishes that he could just curl up in this moment forever. When he thinks about it, three days is nowhere near enough time. They'll have to leave early Sunday afternoon to get home in time to unpack and unwind before work on Monday. He's only been in Hawaii for a few hours, but already Kurt never wants to leave, wants to be here, with Blaine, forever.

_And you can. If everything works out and Blaine feels the same way you do, this happiness doesn't have to come with an expiration date._

"Let's go swimming," Kurt says, and he feels giddy at the thought, at the knowledge that he's _here_, in Hawaii, with the most gorgeous man he's ever seen. He's free to do whatever, whenever, and he's never been to the beach, hadn't ever thought that he'd actually get the opportunity to.

Blaine grins, says, "That sounds like a great idea."

* * *

They have an umbrella, just in case, when they get down to the beach, but Kurt hopes that they won't need it. the sand is hot under his feet, and the trade winds mixed with the sun beating down on his back gives him that same sense of comforting, pleasant warmth of a bed warmed up to just the right temperature when you wake up in the morning: cozy and something you never want to leave.

Kurt can't help but keep stealing glances at Blaine every so often, the still-sharp cut of his hips and the faint lines of his abdominals. Blaine's hair is loose and unstyled today, falling curly around his forehead and temples, and his black-and-white Diesel swim trunks fall just perfectly on his hips and high up enough on his thighs to show off the sturdiness of his muscle. Kurt's wearing last season's Hugo Boss swim trunks and the Ray-Bans Blaine had bought him, and Blaine is wearing a matching pair, a completely unintentional happenstance that had made them both laugh.

There's a quiet spot at a tiny inlet, the waves lapping gently at the sand, and when Blaine lays down the towel Kurt holds out a bottle of sunscreen, saying, "I burn easily."

Blaine takes it, says, with a smile, "I never would have guessed."

Kurt hits Blaine's shoulder and Blaine laughs, saying, "Sorry, sorry. I couldn't resist. You know I love your skin. You're perfect."

Kurt rolls his eyes even as his cheeks heat up; he lays down on his stomach, stretching out so that his toes dig into the hot sand as the towel sinks into it with the pressure points of his elbows and knees. "Oh, just put the sunscreen on before I crisp."

He gasps when the first cool drops of the lotion hit his skin, and when Blaine begins kneading it in, working with nimble fingers, he finds himself letting out a pleased moan and sinking boneless onto the towel. "Ugh, yes. That feels so good."

Blaine's hands move from his shoulders, down the backs of his arms, and his middle back. Kurt giggles and squirms when Blaine runs his hands over his sides, and he can't help but tense up a little when Blaine reaches his lower back above the waistband of his trunks.

He tries to focus on anything else, but when Blaine pushes the waistband down a little and rubs over the skin there, Kurt startles as his body gives a tingling jolt and his cock gives a twitch. This moan he bites back as he sits up, looks over his shoulder to see Blaine straddling his hips, sunglasses falling down his nose.

"Blaine, honey, I love you," Kurt says, voice pinched, "but don't turn me on because I will not have sex with you on this beach. As alluring as _From Here to Eternity_ made it seem, I'd prefer not to get sand in my ass."

Blaine pouts but doesn't say anything, just moves down to Kurt's calves before asking Kurt to flip over. Kurt takes the bottle from him, slapping at his hand when he tries to take it away. A breeze comes by, ruffling Kurt's hair as he says, "Nuh-uh. No exhibitionism, and I know you."

"Oh, do you?" Blaine climbs onto Kurt's lap, pushing him down onto the towel. Kurt squeals, fighting at Blaine's hold, but finds it useless as Blaine just presses him down harder. His breath hitches at the suddenly defenseless position, and Blaine must clue in on it as he backs off a little but still keeps his face close to Kurt's. his glasses slide down a little further with the thin sheen of sweat on Blaine's nose, and Kurt finds himself staring into half-hazel, half lense. Blaine's freckles are more prominent in the sunlight, the liens in his forehead and face a little deeper. "Don't tell me that you don't love the idea of me making you come right here, right now. No one else is on this beach. It'd be our little secret."

Kurt whines in the back of his throat, eyes closing behind his sunglasses. He pushes his wrists against Blaine's hands again, says, "_Fuck_, Blaine, c'mon."

And then Blaine is gone, up in a flash with only the spicy scent of his cologne lingering. Kurt sits up, blinking in surprise, and finds Blaine halfway down the beach, running towards the surf. For a moment, Kurt doesn't move, just admires: Blaine is, in Kurt's eyes, the most youthful person he's ever seen. He's spontaneous, eager, and so ready to live life no matter what that Kurt envies him a little, for being so upbeat even when everything seems like it couldn't possibly get any worse. In all the months that they've been dating he hasn't heard Blaine complain once, even when Kurt himself is attacking him. And as Blaine looks back, calls out, "C'mon!" Kurt knows that he's fallen in love with the right person.

* * *

Eating dinner alone on their balcony overlooking the water is nicer than Kurt had thought it would be: room service hadn't held back, and the bottle of champagne is sweating in its ice bucket as Blaine fills first his glass, then Kurt's, and winks when he hands it to him and says, "Don't tell your dad."

Kurt takes a sip and lets the rushing of bubbles slide down his throat. "He doesn't even know I'm here, so I think I'd prefer _not_ to tell him. He's just beginning to like you, and I'm sure finding out that you've whisked me away for the weekend would be higher up on his list than giving me some champagne." Feeling bold, he adds, sultry, "Besides, I don't need to be drunk to want to get you out of those clothes."

"My, my, Kurt _Hummel_," Blaine says, cutting into his salmon as Kurt takes a delicate bite of his spiced ahi sashimi. "Who turned you into this insatiable creature?"

"It couldn't possibly be the man sitting across from me trying to play footsie under the table," Kurt says evenly, hooking his foot around Blaine's ankle. "What are you, five?"

"And a half," Blaine replies, cocking his head and grinning. He spears a delicately pink bite of salmon with his fork and holds it out. "Here, try this."

Kurt leans across the table and is reminded of their first date, the nerves he'd felt in his stomach as each second had ticked by and he still hadn't screwed it up. They maintain eye contact while Kurt takes the piece of meat, sits back in his chair and chews, and that same Pepsi-bubble feeling returns, though this time it's sharper, champagne bubbles, and he squirms in his seat.

"It's delicious," he affirms.

"I like when you don't argue about me buying you things," Blaine teases.

They share their dessert—Neapolitan cheesecake—feeding each other and laughing and kissing more than actual eating. When Blaine thumbs off a crumb from the corner of Kurt's mouth Kurt leans in, suddenly hungry for more than food, and kisses Blaine deep and dirty. The legs of his chair scrape over the concrete as he gets up, and Blaine pushes away from the table, their contact hardly breaking, to give Kurt room to sit on his lap and wrap his arms around his neck.

"Think it's too early for that skinny dipping you promised me?" Kurt asks.

Blaine lets out a low growl and easily picks Kurt up, hefting him bridal-style. Kurt clutches closer, afraid of falling but trusting Blaine, and Blaine's voice is deeper, rougher, when he says, "It's never too early for skinny dipping, baby."

* * *

Kurt is certain he's still dreaming about last night, the memory of Blaine's mouth on his cock with the waves lapping at their bodies that are nothing more than silhouettes in the silvery moonlight, but as he slowly blinks awake, the soft white of the sheets tangled around him and wrapped around one arm, he realizes that he's _not_ dreaming and Blaine _is_ there, cheeks hollowed around his cock and hair an early-morning mess from going to bed with it wet.

Kurt groans, low and slurred, and Blaine blinks his eyes open, bobs his head a few more times before sliding off with a sucking sound, his hand still working the base as he says, "Good morning, beautiful." He licks a stripe up the side of Kurt's cock and Kurt lets his head fall back to the pillows, gripping tight onto Blaine's hair.

It isn't that he hasn't been woken up by morning blowjobs before, because he _has_, but last night is still fresh in his mind: the thrill of skinny dipping, then them tumbling barely-clothed into the bedroom, water dripping everywhere as Kurt had begged Blaine to fuck him.

Blaine sucks hard just as Kurt remembers Blaine turning him over onto all fours, and the moan he lets out is whining and wanton, and he grabs at Blaine's hair, arches up off the bed. "_Fuck_, oh god, fuck, B, like that."

Blaine hums, sinks lower, and Kurt squeezes his eyes shut, feels the pounding of his heart and the trembling of his thighs. He can still feel the tight grip of Blaine's hands on his hips; hear the smacking of their skin as Blaine had pounded into him until he was screaming into a pillow. He's never let go that much before, but it had never felt as _good_ as it had last night.

"I'm gonna come," he gasps as he feels the slippery slick of Blaine's tongue trail along the length of his cock. He grabs more of the sheets, clenches his teeth before letting his jaw fall slack as he pants. "Oh god, oh _god_, Blaine, _Blaine_."

He comes into Blaine's mouth, trembling and moaning and tugging on Blaine's hair. The sound of Blaine swallowing echoes in the room, and Kurt feels his cock twitch; he turns his head to stare out the window at the sunny sky and aqua waves and doesn't turn back until he hears Blaine moving on the bed, scooting up until the firm clamp of his thighs is around Kurt's torso.

He turns, and Blaine's cock is inches from his face, heavy and flushed red and so slick. Kurt doesn't hesitate to lean up, gripping the backs of Blaine's thighs as he licks at the head, then sinks down. Blaine grips onto the headboard, groaning low and deep, and Kurt's eyes blink up to look at Blaine, the wide-eyed wonderment as Kurt bobs his head and sucks more of his cock into his mouth.

One hand comes down to cradle the back of Kurt's skull, and Blaine's voice is lower still as he groans, "Fuck, that's it, baby, so fucking good."

Says, "Wanna fuck your mouth so badly, pretty baby, wanna watch you take my cock over and over."

Kurt moans, squeezing his eyes shut as Blaine moves his hips hesitantly, sliding only centimeters of his cock in and out of Kurt's mouth. It's thrilling, sending electric shivers up and down Kurt's skin, and his nails dig hard into the backs of Blaine's thighs as he moans, hollows his cheeks and bobs his head faster until Blaine's groaning out a warning and coming hot and thickly bitter into Kurt's mouth.

Blaine pants, body curving as he slumps, and his cock falls with a wet noise from between Kurt's lips as he slides down, smiles and tilts Kurt's head up with a finger under his chin. Kurt clutches at him, kissing back with just as much early-morning fervor as he can muster.

"I have big plans for today," Blaine says, and Kurt can feel his smile, feel the excited energy coursing through his body. "So we should shower."

"The shower in this suite _is_ built for two," Kurt muses, and Blaine grins, leaning down to kiss him again.

* * *

"Dolphins?!" Kurt asks, eyes going wide as he finally sees where Blaine is taking him. It's the same little inlet he could see from their suite, clear water lapping at sad and nestled with black rock. There are two women in wetsuits standing on the ring of beach, and a group of parents and their children.

Blaine looks unsure for a moment and hesitates as he says, "Is this okay?"

"Yes," Kurt answers immediately. He tugs at his trunks, smiles at Blaine before kissing him on the cheek. "I've always wanted to swim with dolphins."

Kurt watches Blaine relax a little, and his smile is easier as they walk toward the rest of the group. "I do this every time I come here," Blaine says. "It's just so…"

"Amazing?" Kurt finishes. They stop next to a little girl who can't be any more than ten, and she looks half-frightened as she crowds close to her dad. Her hair shines buttercream in the sun, and her eyes are pretty and green.

"Are we all here?" one of the trainers asks. When she gets the affirmative she blows her whistle and Kurt watches as six sleekly gray shapes swim up through the water before poking their long snouts out of the water.

Kurt's never imagined himself doing this, and he watches all the demonstrations with amazement, even helping the shy little girl next to him touch one of the dolphins. Blaine is off to the side with the other trainer, barely within earshot, and Kurt is just petting the slick skin of one of the dolphins with Cora, the little girl, when he hears the trainer speak to Blaine.

"It's so nice of you to bring your son here," she says, and Kurt bites his lip, unsure if he wants to be offended or amused. "I know how tough single parenthood can be, especially the bonding part."

The dolphin blinks at Kurt, its beady black eye glistening in the sunlight, and he can hear the faint amusement in Blaine's voice when he says, "Oh, Kurt's not my son. He's my boyfriend."

Kurt can't help himself as he turns in the cool water and calls out, "Are you going to come in anytime soon, honey? You promised me you would!"

"In a minute, baby," Blaine replies, and this time the amusement is much more audible as the trainer looks from one to the other, jaw slightly dropped. It isn't disgust, or offense, just surprises, and he'll take it, Kurt thinks. When Blaine wades into the water Kurt can't resist leaning in to give him a peck on the lips, and Cora, who's still petting the dolphin, says, "Are you two married?"

"No," Blaine says, taking Kurt's hand. There's something in his voice, something Kurt can't place, but Blaine's still smiling so he shrugs it off and adds, "We're just dating."

"You should get married," Cora says in that simple way only a young child can do.

"Er, we aren't sure yet," Kurt says, looking at Blaine to try and gauge his reaction. "We're kind of taking things slow."

The dolphin swims away, disappearing under the water, and Cora disappears back to her parents, leaving Kurt and Blaine standing in the shallow water, unsure what to think.

* * *

"I'm really glad you brought me here," Kurt says that night as they stand on their balcony to watch the sunset. He takes Blaine's hand where it rests on the railing, presses a kiss to the back of it. "It was the best weekend of my life."

Blaine turns, smiles, and his features are highlighted by the sun, subtle brushstrokes of scarlet and purple and navy over twin sunspots of golden. "I'm glad you didn't try to fight me on this one."

"Nah, I think I'm done trying to fight you. I'm just glad that you're still here."

"Hey." Blaine's voice is soft, and his lips are softer when he leans in. "I'm always going to be here, okay?" he says as he rests their foreheads together.

Kurt nods. "Okay."

Blaine bites his lip, and the silence stretches on, broken only by the faint crashing of the waves and the sounds of the other tourists in their resort. The TV is on in their bedroom, faint through the half-closed sliding glass door, and Kurt focuses on these subtleties.

As much as he loves New York and the life it's brought to him—and it's brought him to _Blaine_—Kurt's going to miss the laid-back quiet and warmth of Hawaii. He's going to miss waking up next to Blaine, not having to worry about work or bills or anything.

He knows that he could have this life, that he's already waist-deep in it, and hearing Cora yesterday, so blasé in her young wisdom, had made him realize what's been just under the surface this whole time. But he can't ask—he has to wait until Blaine is ready.

He hears his father's words in his head, "_you're prepared to take on responsibilities if this thing gets serious?"_

He _wants_ things to get serious. But he also remembers how Blaine had broken off one engagement before, and though he'd told Kurt that it was because he hadn't been in love with Jeremy, just the idea of love, Kurt still feels the little niggling sense of fear that that's all Blaine is experiencing, too, some mid-life crisis and Kurt has been crazy and desperate enough to fall for it this entire time.

Like he knows what Kurt's thinking Blaine says, sudden, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Silence, then Blaine sighs and looks out over the ocean. "I'm going to miss this place."

"I'm going to miss spending every day with you."

Blaine turns to him, looking guarded and shy for a moment before it passes. "Have you ever…thought about maybe moving in?"

Kurt's heart lodges itself somewhere up in the middle of his throat, and his next inhale is choked-off in surprise, saliva going down his windpipe as he gasps. He coughs, lets go of Blaine's hand, and waves him away with an _I'm fine_ as he tries to inhale a proper lungful of air.

"Do you mean it?" Kurt asks when he regains his breath. He's sure his heart can be heard by their neighbors a floor above them.

Blaine looks at the concrete. "Only if you want to. I've been thinking about it for awhile, and I know it's a huge step, but I really do love you, Kurt."

That's all Kurt needs to hear. He hugs Blaine tight, kisses him soundly on the lips, and feels his cheeks stretching into a stupidly ridiculous grin. "I'll have to think about it, and ask Rachel, but I really, really want to."

Blaine squeezes his waist, smile slowly unfolding, and he nuzzles Kurt's nose before breathing out, "God, I love you so much."

Here, in Blaine's arms with another possible chapter of their life waiting to be explored, Kurt's never felt more at home.


	11. How They Finally Move In Together

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "His Girl Friday" by The Academy Is...

This fic is age difference, so if that's not your cup of Earl Grey, don't read. This story is also cross-posted to my Tumblr (endofadream).

* * *

"You're a _Page Six_ blind item."

The magazine slaps down onto Kurt's desk, and he blinks through his early-morning stupor. He looks up at Isabelle, then at the magazine on the desk, with befuddlement. The words don't quite register yet. "Uh, what?" It's perhaps not his most eloquent moment in front of his boss, even including when she found out that he and Blaine were dating, but he's still on his first overpriced Starbucks mocha—he needs _time_.

Isabelle smiles and pushes her hair over one shoulder. Her Chanel-manicured hands pick up the _New York Post_ and flip efficiently through the crisp pages until she stops, placing her finger at the "Just asking" blurb. She drops the magazine back down, a jumble of heavy bangles falling noisily toward her bony wrist. "Here."

Kurt picks up the magazine and reads.

**_Just asking:_**

_Which model mogul was seen in Hawaii over the weekend with his baby-faced boytoy? Reports say that the temperature on the beach wasn't the only thing getting steamy._

"They really know how to make blind items not very blind, don't they?" Kurt says dryly as he sets the magazine down and pushes it away, watching it go with something like a mild distaste rising in the back of his throat. Being called a boytoy, even if it is just in the catty gossip section of the _Post_, still stings, and Kurt doesn't want to look at that word any longer than he has to. He's still riding the high of his weekend with Blaine—he doesn't need anything getting him down on his first day back at the office.

"I think they think they're being witty and clever," Isabelle says, picking the magazine up and tossing it into the trashcan by Kurt's desk. Her voice is softer when she adds, "You don't let that get to you, do you?"

Kurt looks up from the reminder he's typing up for someone else in the office, lips parted as he tries to process Isabelle's question. _Does_ he let it get to him? That's a good question. Kurt's spent his entire life trying not to let things get to him, and dating one of the most attractive men he's ever seen surprisingly does little to help that nagging voice that's always telling him he's not good enough. If anything, it makes it worse, and though Kurt tries so hard not to be he sometimes feels like he's on eggshells around Blaine, like he's going to wake up or blink and this is all going to be some very elaborate fever dream.

He'd been well aware of the kind of world he was immersing himself in when he accepted Blaine's offer for dinner, then the offer to be his boyfriend—and now, with Blaine's offer of moving in together hanging over his head, Kurt's afraid he just might drown in it all.

But, still, at the end of the day Kurt Hummel is nothing if not untouchable, and when he shakes his head, says _no_, he's not lying. Not really.

"It's gonna take a lot more than a few sentences to get me down," he replies wryly, smiling up at Isabelle. "They can't touch us, or what we have."

She smiles back and curves an arm around his shoulder, tugging him close so that his head brushes against her bony hip and the soft cashmere of her dress. "That's my boy. Now, what do you say to heading out for a coffee run together to catch up? I can have Chrissie handle the office while we're gone. She needs the experience. And I desperately need the caffeine."

Kurt's phone vibrates on the desk before he can answer, but he doesn't catch who it is before the screen goes black again. He finishes up the memo, emails it, and gives Isabelle an affirmative answer before scooting back from his desk and sitting up, swiping his coffee cup into the trashcan and watching it satisfaction as rich, dark mocha slops over onto the magazine.

Isabelle disappears into her office in the back to grab her coat, and Kurt picks up his scarf, artfully draping it back around his neck, before grabbing his jacket and slipping it on. He finishes doing up the fastens, then picks up his phone and swipes it across the screen.

**To Kurt (9:24AM):  
**_I think I caught something on the plane ride home. I feel awful :(_

**To Kurt (9:25AM):  
**_But I'm totally fine, don't worry. I just wanted to let you know so you didn't wonder why I won't kiss you tonight when you come over. Love you._

The immediacy of the tugging in his heart doesn't surprise Kurt as much as h thinks it maybe should have, or he thinks it should have. He already knows how desperately in love with Blaine he is, knows that he'd do pretty much anything for him. And now Blaine is sick and Kurt wants to take care of him. He taps out a quick reply, hits send, and meets Isabelle by the elevators.

**To Blaine (9:28AM):  
**_Aww, feel better, sweetie. I'll bring some soup over tonight, too._

Kurt gets the feeling that she knows a lot more about their relationship than she lets on, even though after Kenny's prying nature Kurt's tried to keep as much of it out of the office as possible. He doesn't get gifts from Blaine at work anymore, much to Kenny's chagrin, and he rarely speaks about Blaine, especially when he's mentioned in passing by other people. It's a strange sensation, to hear people talking about your boyfriend while not even knowing that he _is_ your boyfriend.

Isabelle doesn't say anything while they stand there, and when the doors ding open she and Kurt step in. Kurt unlocks his phone once they begin their descent and sends Blaine another text, smiling to himself as he does.

**To Blaine (9:31AM):  
**_But don't think that you won't be making up those missed kisses later on._

* * *

"Blaine?" Kurt closes the door to Blaine's apartment and pockets the spare key Blaine had had made for him when they'd gotten home ("And no rush about deciding," he'd said quickly when Kurt had taken it) and looks around. It's silent, the TV and the fireplace off, the kitchen _Architectural Digest_ clean. There's no music, not even an answering _hello_.

He adjusts the rustling plastic bag handle in his grip, floundering for a moment before just setting it onto the rich cherry wood floors. He shrugs off his coat, his scarf, and hangs them up in the walk-in foyer closet. He picks the bag back up, checks it to make sure that the black plastic spoon he'd picked up is in there, as well as napkins and the steaming take-home container of chicken noodle soup he'd gotten from the deli near his loft. He hopes it hasn't gotten too cold on the trip over.

He takes the stairs slowly, hand on the highly-polished and slick railing. It feels odd to not have Blaine with him, but at the same time it feels…comfortable, he'd guess at. He feels sort of at home here, and as he walks across the hallway and opens Blaine's door, he keeps running Blaine's offer over and over like his mind is a tumbler and the idea is the rock.

"Blaine—?" Kurt asks, slowly pushing open the door and stepping in.

There's a huddled, 1,500-thread-count lump in the middle of Blaine's bed. It stirs when the door opens, and after some rustling and unintelligible mumbles Blaine's head is poking above the thick edge of the sheets. Kurt's eyes widen.

Blaine looks…well, awful would be putting it mildly. He looks _terrible_: his eyes are bleary and unfocused, the edges rimmed in red; his hair is in disarray, more than Kurt's ever seen it, and free from gel like this Kurt sees that Blaine's a little grayer than he'd originally guessed. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth are more prominent, and he croaks out, "Kurt…you can go home. I don't want you to"—he stops, lets out a chest-rattling cough that has Kurt wincing in sympathy—"catch anything."

"Nope." Kurt sets the bag down to toe off his boots and then picks it up again. Pathogens and viruses are the very last things on Kurt's mind as Blaine sniffs and then coughs again, his body shaking with it. He has no intention of leaving until Blaine feels at least some semblance of okay. "My boyfriend is sick and I'm staying right here."

Blaine smiles—or, tries to; seconds later he grimaces, looking like he's going to be sick. Kurt doesn't miss this, and he pauses in unpacking the food to sit on the edge of the bed, running his hand over Blaine's clammy forehead. He isn't surprised to find a fever, and he looks for the trashcan just in case. "Oh, sweetie, you're burning up."

Blaine shakes his head adamantly, tugging the covers back up to his chin. He blinks, looks at Kurt with slitted eyes, and Kurt smiles. "Nuh-uh. 'M cold."

"That's the fever," Kurt says gently. He takes the lid off the soup, steam coiling and twisting in lazy spirals. He checks the glowing numbers on Blaine's alarm clock. "How long have you been like this?"

"Just…today. I felt sort of sick last night but didn't think anything of it."

Kurt _tsks_, running his hand through Blaine's hair. "Do you think you could sit up for me, baby, and eat some soup? I bet you haven't eaten at all today, have you?"

Blain gives Kurt a tired smile that's only a faint imitation of his usual one. It's a struggle to get himself pushed upright as his arms tremble, but it isn't long before Blaine's sitting up, his silk pajama top slightly askew so the collar gapes and exposes hints of gray-and-black chest hair. Kurt fixes it, running his palm over the firm muscle of Blaine's chest as he goes. "I held off all day just so my beautiful boyfriend could come home and spoon-feed me," Blaine jokes.

They both don't miss the way Blaine has just said _home_. Not _my place_ but _home_.

Electric shivers run down Kurt's spine, and he has to swallow back the rising lump of emotion, of want. He leans in, presses a kiss to Blaine's forehead, and smoothes his hand down the prickly skin of Blaine's cheek. "I'm here now."

Kurt slowly feeds Blaine little spoonfuls, feeling his cheeks heat up as Blaine never breaks eye contact. They go until Blaine has him stop, which equals only a third of the carton gone, but Blaine looks a little less dead now and a lot more content.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asks as he packs away the soup and tosses the spoon into the bag. 'Do you need me to get the trashcan just in case?"

Blaine shakes his head, then groans, pressing a palm to his temple. "No, but…" he looks up at Kurt with pained eyes, and Kurt gets the wild urge to say _fuck it_ to every responsibility he has right now just to stay in bed with Blaine until he feels better. "…Will you get me some Tylenol? My head hurts."

"Of course." Kurt drops another kiss to the top of Blaine's head before getting up.

Blaine's en suite is probably the nicest Kurt's seen off of HGTV: it's open, with travertine floors, a slate backsplash and a glass-walled shower (Kurt blushes at the memories there). There's a separate bathtub next to it bordered in the same slate with two steps leading up into it, and at the far end is the vanity with a wall-to-wall mirror and two white vessel sinks.

Kurt grabs the bottle of Tylenol and heads back into the bedroom. Blaine declines a glass of water and takes two pills, popping them into his mouth and grimacing as he swallows. He falls to the pillows, arms splayed out, and groans. "I feel like death."

"You don't look so hot, either," Kurt teases. He stands there, unsure what to do, until Blaine reaches out for him.

Kurt goes to the bed easily, staying above the covers as Blaine cuddles close. He's radiating heat, and Kurt, surprisingly, finds himself not worried about the probability of coming down with whatever Blaine has—he's comfortable here, and completely content.

"Thanks for still coming over," Blaine murmurs. His voice is muffled, and he sounds almost half asleep, like the medicine is slowly beginning to kick in. "I was gonna call but forgot."

"I still would have even if you'd called me. I'll always be here if you need me," Kurt says, twisting his fingers idly through Blaine's curls. The truth of the words hits him hard, and he almost physically reels from it. He stares around the room, this extravagant room the likes of which Kurt had thought he'd never set foot in, and then looks down at the man curled, so small and yet still so able, at his side. Blaine is beautiful, gorgeous, and Kurt's dream guy. The guy he's fallen so, so in love with. The guy he's let be his first at so many things. The guy he's turned to so many times over the past few months, who has made him feel special and loved and so _wanted_.

"Mmm, you're the best," Blaine says, tilting his head back to smile up at Kurt. "Best boyfriend ever. I love you so much."

Kurt's heart make a grand leap into his throat, and he swallows thickly around it, says, "I love you, too, Blaine. How are you feeling?"

"So much better now that you're here," Blaine says with a little groan. "And now that the Tylenol is kicking in, I think."

Kurt laughs, grabs the remote for the flat screen mounted into the wall across from them. "I heard there's a _Jersey Shore_ marathon on tonight," he says when Blaine lifts his head. He begins carding his fingers through Blaine's hair again. "It'll take your mind off stuff."

"But you need to get home soon, don't you?" Blaine protests, sound equal parts desperate and hopeful. "You have work tomorrow, and—"

"Shh," Kurt says. "I can get ready for work from here. And borrow some clothes, if you don't mind."

Kurt watches Blaine's cheek bulge out in a smile. He sounds a little sleepier when he says, "I love it when you wear my clothes."

It's so domestic, so…_casual_, and Kurt's struck with it, then, sudden and sharp as he holds Blaine close and watches mindless reality TV: he does. He wants to move in with Blaine.

* * *

"So you'll never guess who I ran into—"

"I haven't been completely honest with you," Kurt breaks in when Rachel comes into the loft the next evening. Blaine had called during Kurt's lunch break to say that he'd felt better ("Must've been the twenty-four-hour flu," he'd said brightly. "I feel fit as a fiddle right now. You left that chicken noodle soup in the fridge, didn't you?") and that he just needed a little time to recoup, so Kurt was staying at home tonight to catch up on some things.

Rachel pauses in opening the fridge and looks towards the living area, an eyebrow raised, and she amazingly doesn't look pissed that Kurt had interrupted her mid-sentence. She lets the door swing shut, then walks over to the couch, where she sits down carefully, like Kurt's going to jump on her. "Okay? And…?"

Kurt twists the corner of the afghan between his fingers and looks down, memorizes its pattern. He hadn't told Rachel about Blaine's proposal when he'd gotten back from Hawaii for two reasons: one, he knew she'd probably be way too excited and therefore somehow make it about her; and two, he'd been scared. He's still scared, honestly, and the twisting and uncomfortably coiling of his stomach only heightens it.

He wants to move in with Blaine, he _does_ and has since Blaine had offered, but he also doesn't want to leave Rachel alone. The only reason they'd gotten the loft had been because they'd been splitting the rent between each other. He'd be leaving Rachel alone with the whole weight of the rent on her shoulders, and as much as they butt heads sometimes Kurt would never wish that upon her.

"Kurt?" Rachel's voice breaks through his thoughts. Her hands are soft and cool when she touches his, and when Kurt looks up her brown eyes are warm and understanding. She smiles, and Kurt finds himself suddenly blurting it out.

"Blaine asked me to move in with him. What do I do, Rach? I can't just leave you alone."

His cheeks slowly bloom red, the heat creeping up the back of his neck, and he takes his hands from Rachel's, rubs the back of his neck and looks down at the wood floors beneath his feet. This is exactly why he didn't want to tell her yet, this horrible insecurity, this fear that he's going to upset her, that he's going to ruin everything.

Rachel is silent for longer than Kurt thought possible, and his heart rises higher and higher up in his throat until her hands are suddenly on his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. She's grinning widely, and Kurt gets a tickling sense of unease. He's seen this look before, had become rather well-acquainted with it in high school. It means Rachel has some big news…or that she's up to something.

"Kurt!" Her voice slides up higher in excitement, and Kurt shrinks back, narrowing his eyes. "Oh my god, I'm so happy for you! Seriously! I told you he was going to be perfect didn't I? And of course I'm always right…I just know them when I see them…"

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Like Brody and Finn?" he replies dismissively, gently easing Rachel's hands off his cheeks.

She ignores it, or doesn't hear it; either way, she powers on. "It just works out so perfectly! You know how I was saying that I ran into somebody today? Well, it was Santana and she's looking for somewhere to stay. There's more than enough room here, and I was going to run it by you first before I said yes, but now that you're moving in with Blaine I can call her right now!"

"Santana," Kurt says slowly. The words don't quite register. "You ran into Santana…Lopez."

Rachel nods enthusiastically, jumping up off the couch and running to her room. She returns seconds later with her phone. "She said that college didn't work out so she's going to try to discover herself here, and as a fellow newcomer myself I said I'd be more than happy to help her out."

"Where is she staying tonight?" Kurt asks, more out of curiosity than anything. He thought for sure he'd never see Santana again, much less than she'd be living…well, not with him, but near him.

Rachel frowns, pursing her lips. "Uh, that I don't actually know. Hopefully somewhere safe."

"Probably not," Kurt says under his breath. Then, louder, "So you're okay with me moving out?"

"I said hold on to Blaine, didn't I?" Rachel winks. "It's kind of cute how he's obviously head over heels for you. And you know that him offering to share his place with you is a huge deal—most people his age aren't quite as spontaneous."

Kurt begs to differ, but he doesn't say anything. He feels love and warmth towards his best friend rise, slowly, to engulf him, and before he knows it he's standing up, tossing the afghan onto the end of the couch, and enveloping Rachel in a tight hug.

She returns it, patting his back awkwardly, and her voice is strainer when she asks, "Kurt?"

"I love you," Kurt says, feeling tears well up in his eyes. He's scared, more than he's ever been, but he's also so glad to have someone as understanding and supportive (when she wants to be) as Rachel is. His life is changing so rapidly, and he almost can't keep up, but Rachel has been there for him through so much of it that he knows he owes her more than he could ever articulate.

"I love you, too, Kurt," Rachel says after a long silence, and Kurt's almost glad to find that her voice is thick with emotion, too.

* * *

While Rachel calls Santana Kurt heads into his own room, pulling the curtain shut and flopping down onto the bed. He lays there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. He won't be staring at this unfinished ceiling more much longer, and he almost feels bad for upgrading when Rachel's stuck here. But then he remembers how happy Rachel had been for him, how supportive she's been this entire time while she's had to deal with the Brody and Finn fiascoes and Kurt's had steady, constant Blaine.

He listens to Rachel's voice, thinks of all the mornings they've fought over the shower, over the last bagel, over coffee and tea and cookies and began food. He thinks of all the takeout they've gotten together, all the movies they'd watched and cried to while curled under a blanket. He thinks of unloading after their days, Rachel about Cassandra July and Kurt about Kenny the mail guy. Finding such a good friend in Rachel had been surprising, but Kurt's so glad that he did.

It isn't until long after Rachel's stopped talking that Kurt pulls out his phone. He doesn't check the time as he unlocks it, doesn't let himself think it over as he finds Blaine's number in his recent calls list. He presses it, brings the phone to his ear as it rings.

_"Kurt?"_ Blaine sounds worried. _"It's really late, baby, I was just about to turn off my iPad and go to sleep, what's—?"_

"I'm saying yes," Kurt says, cutting Blaine off. His heart pounds, fast and fluttering, and he presses his phone tighter to his ear, swallows the heavy lump in his throat. "I want to move in with you. I want to become an us. I want to wake up every morning to see you next to me. I want to have breakfast together and get ready together. I want to…I want to always be there for you whenever you need me." He closes his eyes, feels a strong wave of emotion surge up, encapsulate and drag him under.

"Oh, Kurt." Blaine's voice sounds just as thick. It's tender, sweet, and so, so loving. "I love you so much. I'm…god, I'm so lucky to have you. I want all of that, too, and you have no idea how happy this makes me."

"I think I have an idea," Kurt teases.

When they hang up Kurt rolls over, unwilling to get up and get ready for bed just yet. His keys are on the table by the bed, and as he stares at them he gets a sudden, sharp jolt in his stomach because he's staring at the spare key Blaine had had made for him—only, it's not a spare key anymore.


	12. How They Learn A Few New Things

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "His Girl Friday" by The Academy Is...

This fic is age difference, so if that's not your cup of Earl Grey, don't read. This story is also cross-posted to my Tumblr (endofadream).

This was a filler chapter on my Tumblr for when they're still in Hawaii, but I completely forgot to post it here! :x I apologize for the jump back in time that this chapter will cause.

* * *

"You look really sexy with glasses on."

Blaine looks up from his iPad as Kurt straddles his lap, sinking down slowly as his hands come up to grip onto Blaine's shoulders. It's their last night in the hotel room, and Kurt _wants_: he wants to memorize the lines of Blaine's face, tossed into relief by the soft yellow of the lamp on the bedside; he wants to memorize Blaine's body around him, wants to make him moan over and over. He doesn't want to go back to their lives, doesn't want to think about work on Monday and Rachel's prying questions.

He wants to stay here, with Blaine, until they forget that they're two completely separate but not so different people. And with the way Blaine smiles at him, eyes crinkling behind the lenses of his glasses, tells Kurt that Blaine is thinking the exact same thing.

"Is that so?" he asks, teasing, locking his iPad and setting it on the nightstand. His hands come up to wrap around Kurt's hips and Kurt giggles, ducking his head and feeling so incredibly young and powerful that it sends a rush through him, and when it ends, burning hot and insistent, at his groin, he isn't the least bit surprised.

He cups the back of Blaine's neck, feels the muscle there and the fine hairs rubbing against his palm. "Uh-huh," he says, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and watching the way Blaine's eyes, hypnotized, follow it. "It reminds me of how much…older you are." He traces the bridge of Blaine's nose and shivers as Blaine pushes up every so slightly, rubs his hardening cock and the silk of his pajama pants against Kurt's thin boxer-briefs.

Blaine lets out a groan, short and low, in the back of his throat and closes his eyes. His hands squeeze Kurt's hips, fingers digging in, and Kurt sucks in a breath, fights the urge to rut against Blaine. It's still so _overwhelming_, feeling like this, _being_ with someone like this. He's nineteen and he's in _Hawaii_ with his boyfriend—he knows several people older than him, older than _Blaine_, who would kill to be in his position.

"You are so sexy," Blaine murmurs, sliding a hand around to the small of Kurt's back; he presses forward, a guide, and Kurt goes, bracing his weight with a hand on the headboard, the other still on the nape of Blaine's neck. Blaine's lips are sweet and minty, slick and waxy with chapstick, and Kurt revels in their pliancy, their softness; when Blaine opens his mouth, breath a panting, and slides the slick warmth of his tongue over Kurt's lip Kurt opens his mouth, presses harder on the back of Blaine's neck as he tilts his head.

The hardness of Blaine's cock is more present now, slipping between Kurt's cheeks. Kurt groans, squeezing his eyes tightly closed, and clumsily sucks on Blaine's lower lip, biting it hesitantly before letting go.

Blaine moans appreciatively, squeezing Kurt's ass in broad, strong hands. He kisses sloppy down Kurt's neck, guides him down over and over on the length of his cock. The metal frame of his glasses—Burberry, Kurt's noted, thick-rimmed and heavy—digs into Kurt's skin, a cooling flash of juxtaposition, and he grinds down, uncaring, as Blaine nips at his throat.

"What do you want to do?" Blaine asks, pulling back. "We've got the whole night." His eyebrows rise, one corner of his mouth curling deviously up. Kurt flushes scarlet, biting his lip when Blaine's eyes trail down to where he knows there's an obscene bulge in his underwear.

Faced with _the question_, Kurt has no idea what to say. All the other times they've had sex there hadn't been need for discussion, just body language and emotion-fueled words. They've discussed Blaine being Kurt's first and all the implications of that—aside from feeling like a cradle-robber Blaine had been honored, Kurt flustered and giggling—but they've never really discussed what they both _like_.

"Uh." He starts, then stops. The heat spreads from his face, his neck, down his entire body, and he squirms unconsciously on Blaine's lap, looking anywhere but Blaine's patient face below him. He doesn't know what to say. He wants _Blaine_; isn't that enough?

"Kurt?" Blaine's voice is gentle. His hands fall from Kurt's ass, and seconds later his fingers are under Kurt's chin, gently turning his head. "You don't have to be nervous around me, you know. It's just sex. You told me yourself how it isn't scary anymore, and you're straddling my lap right now."

"Talking about it is." Kurt sucks in a deep breath. He's not sure why he's so nervous, but he can't shake it no matter how hard he tries. "I love you, and I love having sex with you, but talking about it is…still kind of terrifying. But mostly because I don't really know what I want yet?" It comes out as a question, Kurt's voice slipping up as he tilts his head.

"Hmm." Blaine's brows crease, and Kurt focuses on the gray patch of hair that he loves at Blaine's temple. "Well…you want me, right?"

Kurt raises an eyebrow but nods. "Where are we going with this?"

Blaine shakes his head, presses a finger to Kurt's lips. He fixes Kurt with a stare, and Kurt's own eyes widen at the intensity and the concentration. Subtly, Blaine arches up, and Kurt's shocked to find that he's still hard. He moans, and Blaine says, "You like that, don't you?"

"_Yes_." It's emphasized, desperate, and Kurt can feel his own cock filling again as Blaine rubs against him.

"So what do you want now?" Blaine's voice is rough, cajoling, and his hands come up to squeeze Kurt's ass again, push him closer as Kurt begins to roll his hips with Blaine's.

"For you to fuck me," Kurt whines, closing his eyes, mouth falling open as his forehead creases. It's his default answer, partly because sex is still so gloriously new and amazing and mostly because it's _Blaine_. "Oh, god, Blaine, please."

Blaine smiles, brushing a hand through Kurt's hair, and says, "See, that was something."

"That was _obvious_," Kurt complains. "If you're going to rub against me I'm going to want _something_ out of it."

Blaine laughs, low and warm, and relocates a hand to the front of Kurt's underwear, cupping him and squeezing. "What if I said I was going to suck you off instead? Would you want that? My lips around your cock, my hand cupping your balls? Would you want me to finger you, too, baby? Slip three fingers into that tight little asshole and make you come for me?"

An electric shiver runs from the crown of Kurt's skull all the way to his toes, and he shivers, arching his hips forward into the warm pressure of Blaine's palm. Hearing those words from Blaine's mouth, spoken so huskily, so _passionate_, finally knocks down those inhibitions, and Kurt is saying, grabbing at Blaine's hair as Blaine wraps his fist loosely around Kurt's cock through his underwear, "Fuck, please, please, baby." He swallows as Blaine eases down the waistband of his underwear, and he carefully balances as Blaine slides them down and hips, off his legs and to the floor. "God, I just—I don't care, I just need to feel you."

Blaine wriggles out of his pajama pants, and Kurt kisses him with a hungry, desperately filthy noise when they're both finally naked, cocks sticky-slick against their abdomens. Blaine clutches at Kurt's shoulders, licks over the shell of his ear. He breathes, "What if I asked you to tie me up, to fuck my mouth and come on my face?"

Kurt keens, rocking his hips harder, faster. The slide is dry, but stopping to get lube is something that neither of them wants to do. He grabs Blaine's thigh and Blaine easily goes, hiking it up over Kurt's hip and dragging his body, arching his hips up and kissing at Kurt's warm cheek.

"I'd say yes," Kurt says, strained. His mind runs rampant with pictures of Blaine, his face dripping with sticky white, and he plants his hands on the bed, drops his face to the sweet-smelling curve of Blaine's neck.

"Even with my glasses on?"

_Fuck_. "Especially with your glasses on."

Blaine laughs, looping his arms around Kurt's neck. The bed creaks, and even to his own ears Kurt's grunts are loud, primitive, but he doesn't care as the heat builds and grows, as Blaine's legs tighten around his waist and his voice, that silky-smooth velvety murmur, begins to fray and crack.

Kurt grabs at the bedding, pulls up a handful and presses open-mouthed kisses to Blaine's shoulder. He feels it, the inevitability of orgasm, and he tries to hold on, grits his teeth and rocks, imagines that he's fucking Blaine instead and Blaine is _begging_ the way Kurt did last night, so taken apart that he's reduced down to his most animalistic instincts.

"I'm gonna come," Blaine pants. His body trembles under Kurt's, and his hand grips hard onto Kurt's hair. "God, baby, so hot. Talk to me, Kurt, get me there, gonna make me come so hard—"

Kurt rolls his hips forward a few more times before he's finally snapping loose, letting out a keening moan as his cock pulses between them, come ribboning slick between them. Barely even registering that he's saying it, Kurt says, half-smothered against Blaine's shoulder, "I, uhn—I want to rim you, make you scream, B."

Blaine comes, then, with a bitten-off moan, and he clutches to Kurt until he goes limp, limbs falling to the bed and head hitting the pillows. His glasses are askew, cheeks red and forehead glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. "_God_," he says, like it's all that needs to be said. His torso is a mess of opalescent white, and Kurt knows without looking down that his is, too.

He gets up, blushing only faintly at walking naked across the suite, and grabs the tissues where they're located not conveniently on the table across the room. He tosses the box onto the bed, Blaine wiping himself off first, then Kurt. The box gets pushed to the floor with their clothes, and Blaine takes off his glasses, sets them on the nightstand and rolls over to face Kurt.

"So," he says, light and conversational.

"So," Kurt replies, lips twitching. Everything is still in that halo of blissed perfection, his body fuzzy and leaden still as he relaxes into the mattress.

"I still didn't get you to say much," Blaine teases. "Which you know means we're still going to half to work on it."

"It's because you unexpectedly unleashed the dirty talk on me," Kurt protests. "How am I supposed to think coherently when you're talking like _that_?"

"I'll take that as a compliment. Just like I'll take you admitting that you wanted to rim me just before you came as an even bigger compliment."

Kurt's ears immediately heat up and he buries his face in the pillows. "Oh god, you did hear that."

"Yes, I did, and—stop hiding your face—I'll have you know that I love being rimmed."

Kurt peeks a careful eye out, sees Blaine silhouetted against the light, sees the bright glint of his white smile. "Really?"

"Really. And knowing that it's your tongue on my asshole will make it a thousand times better."

"Blaine!" Kurt says, feeling his cheeks heat up to match his ears. He's still smiling, though, even as he whacks Blaine's arm. He squeaks in surprise when Blaine suddenly climbs on top of Kurt, effectively pinning him to the mattress. Kurt looks up, lips parted and eyes wide, and feels the warmth of Blaine's flaccid cock against his abdomen as Blaine leans forward, grabs his wrists in one hand and pins them on the pillows above his head.

Blaine leans down, lips brushing Kurt's, and he teasingly tilts his head up, dragging the swell over Kurt's mouth, and he kisses Kurt only once, fleetingly, before murmuring, eyes bright and blurred dark as Kurt struggles to focus, to be aware of anything other than the heavy weight on top of him, the thrill of his arms pinned above his head and the rapid rush of blood back down to his cock, "We still have all night, baby, and by the end of it I plan to have fully corrupted you."

Kurt can deal with that, he thinks, and he pushes up into Blaine's kiss, arms straining against Blaine's strong grasp. There's a lot they can do in one night.


End file.
